Abattoir Blues: The Hitman and Her
by LongSnakeMoan
Summary: Anthony DeMartino is a world weary veteran hitman. Jane Lane is a runaway, lost and alone on the city streets. Both are trying to survive a harsh, unforgiving world. Owing a debt to just about every hitman crime movie, this AU features very strong language and scenes of violence.
1. Chapter 1

It was a damn cold day, the kind of day where the weather didn't even have the decency to snow. A freezing fog hung in the air, chilling me so much I honestly thought my balls'd drop off. My original plan was to stay in my nice warm house and drink myself into a stupor. However, an acquaintance of mine had decided that some asshole who lived all the way across town had used up his last chance to pay off his debts and I had to make him 'disappear.' Because I just _loved_ to freeze my ass off on a day like this, dumping some dumb fuck into the river by the docks. Anyway, another twenty minutes and it would be whisky time in the warm.

"Get your hands off me."

"Look bitch, one of you whores is as good as another."

"Fuck you"

I look down the alley were the voices came from. Some low rent hood is grappling with a struggling woman, the kind of guy who thought dealing a bit of weed entitled him to slap girls around. She's giving as good as she gets though, aiming punches at his face and chest, and it looks like she's winning. Until he moves suddenly and punches her hard in the stomach. She crumples to the ground and at that point I've had enough.

"Any need for that?"

"Who the fuck asked you? Get the fuck outta here."

The advantage to being older is that assholes like this tend to assume I'm some outraged citizen. Which is why it's always satisfying to see the shocked look on their faces as I kick the crap outta them, just like this dumbass. A punch to the face followed by one to the stomach has him on his back, groaning. I put my foot on his throat and press on his windpipe.

"You do that _again_ and your mother gets a call telling her your _head_ was found in a _dumpster_. Now get outta here or she gets that call _sooner_ than you think."

He crawls away, threatening to bring his boys back. They all say that and turn up with two kids who couldn't punch their way out of a paper bag. I look at the girl, who's back on her feet. She's tall with dark hair and bright red lips. More than that, she has bright blue eyes and she's thin as a rail. Underneath that jacket I bet I could count every rib.

"Thanks for that. The guy thought he could pay less and get more, you know?"

"Well, if he hadn't caught you off guard you woulda had him down. All that and I've seen more meat on a pencil."

"Yeah, well if you hadn't come along I would have had my ass kicked so thanks."

Her face changes suddenly, as if she's weighing something up in her mind. It changes from relief to something approaching an attempt at seduction. Her lips became pouty and her eyes are half closed.

"Normally you would have to pay but as a thank you I'm gonna let you have the hand job and oral for free and you can just pay for the sex."

For once I'm speechless. I'm old enough to be her father and even the seasoned girls aren't that brazen, she's obviously new to this. She has no  
idea what she's doing and they'll destroy her in weeks. She can't be much beyond eighteen and in the half light of the alley she looks vulnerable and scared.

"Flattered as I am I'm gonna have to turn you down. If you want to thank me then promise me you won't work these alleys anymore. They pull a lotta girls from the dumpsters round here."

She steps back, her face flushes red with anger and embarrassment. I shrug and turn to go home. The temperature has dropped even more and I pull my coat around me. I just want to get home to a bottle of Jamesons and oblivion. I'm half way down the alley when all of a sudden a figure darts in front of me. I look up, expecting to nut some mugger and she's there, biting her lip. She's beautiful. I'm a dog for thinking it at my age but she is. She's also remarkably quick and quiet. How did she get round me without me noticing?

"Yo. I'm sorry. I, uh, realised I must have sounded really stupid back there and that the offer was highly insulting so how about you get it all for free. Anything you want. Except certain, um, areas. I don't do that."

I laugh, what else can I do? If she wasn't so young, so... angular, I'd have had her up against the wall by now. However, Mrs DeMartino's boy Anthony may be a lowlife but I'm not that much of a lowlife. Then again I don't want her to go away so I offer the first thing that comes into my head.

"You hungry?"

"I'm always hungry."

"You wanna go for food?"

She looks at me as if it's a trick question. She tilts her head like she's working out if I'm kidding, crazy or plain honest. She smiles.

"Sure. Why not?"


	2. Chapter 2

The heat of the diner hits me as soon as we walk in. Compared to the almost Arctic conditions outside this place feels hotter than hell, crammed full of people hiding from the cold, huddling together. I'm not sure where we are exactly. I've moved from place to place since I got here, never stopping anywhere long enough to get my bearings beyond a few immediate streets of wherever I end up. I've just followed him in silence, neither of us has spoken a word since we left the alley. I don't know why I've decided to trust him, maybe because he could have screwed me and left me where he found me but he didn't. It could either be the greatest thing I've done or the worst mistake in a life filled with them. Besides, if he does kill me and wear my intestines as a scarf then at least I've got some food out of it. Every cloud has a smoky grey lining after all. He nods his head towards an empty booth by the window.

"Get a seat, I'll be back in a minute. If the waitress comes I'll have a black coffee and a slice of key lime pie."

He leaves me and goes to the john as I move into an empty booth by the window. Its steamed up and whoever was here before has written _For a good time call Jenna on _with the number wiped out_._ They've missed a trick there. It really should be _For a good time find Jane. Look for the girl in the red jacket on the streets round here. Going cheap._ I'm gonna have the cheeseburger special I think, with as many fries as I can eat. It's been days, maybe weeks, since I ate something that wasn't chips or candy. Strange how a childhood junk food dream doesn't seem so great now. Hell, if he's paying I'll eat everything they've got. Speaking of which, here he comes. I really should find out his name, it seems rude not to ask since he's saved me from a beating and I'm planning on ordering a ludicrous amount of food. He's followed by a fussing middle aged waitress whose hair is the most bizarre shade of red I've ever seen. It looks as if she dipped her head into a tin of mahogany woodstain. I feel almost offended at this violation of colour. She clearly has a thing for him though, judging by the evil look she's giving me as he sits down across from me.

"Black coffee and key lime pie for me, Lorraine. And whatever the lady wants."

The lady. Well that's a first.

"I'll have the double cheeseburger special, an extra order of fries, a cola and a slice of key lime pie too."

He raises his eyebrow at me and a half smile flickers across his mouth. Lorraine gives me a look of contempt, as if she knows what I am. Well fuck her. I may be a hooker but at least my hair doesn't upset the colour spectrum. I smile sweetly at her, just to piss her off even more.

"Thank you, _Lorraine._"

"No problem. You need anything else Anthony, just let me know."

Anthony. So that's his name. Suits him. It's a very, I don't know, Mafia name. Like in all those mob movies I used to watch with Trent, every other guy in them was called Anthony or Tony. My stomach twists slightly as I think about Trent. Trent, Lawndale, my life before this. All of the emotional equivalent of being punched in the gut when thought about, so I don't do it often. I swallow and look up at Anthony. He lights a cigarette and offers it to me and my God don't I need that nicotine hit. I take it and take a deep drag, savouring the harshness as it hits the back of my throat, rushing down to my lungs. He lights another for himself and our eyes meet again.

"Thanks. I realised before I haven't introduced myself properly. I'm Jane and I gathered from the lovely Lorraine that you're Anthony. I guess you should at least know my name as I'm taking cigarettes and food from you and that I embarrassed myself before with the world's worst come on."

"Can I ask you a personal question Jane?"

Well, that was direct. No bullshit small talk with this guy.

"Sure, ask away."

"Why the hell are you a hooker?"

I'm halfway through taking a drag when he asks that and I choke on the smoke. Of course at that moment Lorraine makes her entrance with the drinks and smirks at me as my eyes water. I take a big mouthful of my drink to cool my burning throat and wipe my eyes so I can see. The bastard hasn't even moved. He's just sitting there, staring.

"I'm not a junkie if that's what you're wondering. I have no habits to support, or kids if you're thinking that too. I do it because I can't do anything else. I'm too young to bartend, I'm not especially educated, I got fired from my waitressing job and the stores aren't hiring. I'm always hungry, it's cold and I needed to do something, anything, to get some money. This was the only thing I could think of."

"Don't you have any family? Don't they care that you're on the streets?"

"I don't have any family that counts. The Lanes aren't your average family."

He laughs quietly

"Lane? Your name is Jane Lane? Jesus Christ, you sound like a character from a kids story."

I give him the finger, which seems to amuse him even more. The smoke from my cigarette is mixing with his and a dull grey fog hangs between us. The smile dies from his face and he leans forward and grinds his cigarette in the ashtray.

"And what exactly is wrong with the Lanes?"

How do I answer that? How much to tell about the Lawndale Family Lane, the prime example of dysfunctional families since the late sixties. Fuck it, he asked, I'm gonna tell him.

"My family don't know I'm on the streets. They don't even know I've left home because none of them are even there. The last I heard my father was in the south of France photographing rocks for 'artistic' reasons. My mother went to Morocco months ago to see if North Africa could inspire her to create new exciting pottery. Interestingly both have the money to pay for these trips but don't think to leave any for their youngest child so that she can pay the bills and the mortgage and buy food. And when they do finally get back from their global jaunts my disappearance will be explained as needing time to 'find myself.' The fact I'm selling my body will be my way of freeing myself from society's conventions and not because I'm fucking desperate."

I hear the bitterness in my voice. I don't care.

"My sister Summer is currently locked in a battle with child protection services trying to get her four kids back after every single one of them has run away from home. Two were found on the roadside selling wood pine and described the experience as 'better than being at home.' My brother Wind has been married four times and unfortunately didn't bother to divorce the first three so he's in jail for bigamy. My other sister Penny is in South America, claiming to sell handcrafted goods but is more likely involved in the drugs trade and Trent,"

I swallow again.

"Trent is my other brother. We kind of looked after each other growing up. He's in a band that went on tour a few months ago. After the first month the phone calls stopped. I don't know where he is. He, uh, does a lot of dope and isn't exactly the most switched on of people. He could be anywhere. Trent was my last safety net and after he left I was alone, I couldn't stop the foreclosures of our house forever and I wasn't doing at well at school. On the occasions I did go I was alone because I didn't have any friends and I couldn't take much more if it. So I decided if I was going to be miserable and alone I may as well be miserable and alone here. I used to draw, sculpt, paint and I thought that I could get a job in a gallery here, even if it was just the gift shop, then I could make some money from doing what I love. But the galleries want art graduates and nobody wanted to buy my street sketches. What I did sell barely covered a bus ride anyway. So here I am, stupid little small town girl way out of her depth and selling her skinny ass to complete strangers. So that's it, the history of me and my fucked up family."

I take a deep drag from my cigarette, maybe I've said too much. I've just given the poor guy my entire life story and he probably thinks he's rescued a headcase. Anthony doesn't break his gaze though and stares at me in silence for a long moment, his face is unreadable.

"My father ran out on my mother when I was a baby. He stuck around long enough to name me Anthony and then left never to been seen again. My mother was nineteen and wanted her life back so she dumped me with some twisted neighbours of ours who were trying to re-establish the crusades to rid the world of all non Catholics. I would see my mother twice a year, on my birthday and at Christmas. Sal and Livia knocked seven shades of crap outta me when I was a kid until they shunted me off to Military school when I was old enough to start to hit back. Believe me Jane, I know about fucked up families."

From the way he's spoken I don't think he's ever talked about this much. I don't know what to say, what do you say? 'Commiserations on having shitty parents, welcome to the club.' I wish the food would arrive now. It would break this awkward silence if nothing else. I stub my cigarette out and look around the diner, trying to see if Lorraine is making her way over.

"Where are you planning on staying tonight?"

"Anywhere I can find. If I don't have any money for a room I'll see if I can find an all night bar or pick up a guy so I can spend the night at his. Depends how well business has gone that day."

"I have a spare room. You can use that as long as you like. I have a proposition for you too, but it requires me to observe you for a while so you being at mine would help. I'm not planning on pimping you out so don't worry about that either. "

"You gonna elaborate on the observation thing?"

"No. It might not work out and that wouldn't be fair on you. So, for a free room and the chance to get off the streets and away from your current employment, are you in?"

I look outside through the window. It really has been fucking cold recently and you've gone home with one stranger you've gone home with them all, so I make my choice.

"I'm in."


	3. Chapter 3

"Today we're gonna go for a run. That okay with you, Jane?"

She looks up at me from where she's sat on the chair, her dark hair half covers her face, the glint from her many earrings catches the light from the television. She's slowly losing the look that she had when she first came here, that weary look that the girls on the street have. There's still a trace of it though, she'll never lose it completely. She runs the tip of her tongue round her lips and grins.

"You mean I'm gonna run while you sit on your ass having a smoke and timing me. Six weeks I've been doing this shit and you still won't tell me why. This better be worth it Anthony, otherwise you owe me a really good dinner."

She turns her attention back to the TV and watches two fat redneck bitches beat the crap out of each other over some inbred fuck with cross eyes. Her pale legs cross at the ankle and dangle over the edge of the chair. She swings them slightly and I watch, mesmerised. I start at the feet, covered in my old black socks, and my gaze moves upward across her calves, her knees, her slim thighs. I make myself stop there and not look where I want to. When she stands too close it takes all I have not to grab her and kiss her. Or bend her over the nearest table if I'm feeling less than romantic. Or honest. She's eighteen, I'm fifty one and I'm the biggest asshole I know. Sometimes I wonder what she would do if she could read my twisted mind. Sometimes I think she knows.

"You gonna shift your ass anytime soon?"

One piece of trailer trash has got the other on the floor, pulling out the other one's hair. Jane doesn't even look up at me and I allow myself one last look at her legs.

"Yeah. After this though, I wanna see which of these bitches goes down first."

* * *

Getting some weight on her was the first job, because being skinny and grappling with some bastard in an alley is a whole different kettle of fucking fish to what she could end up doing. Then, the training started. I timed her running, had her follow people on the street to see if they noticed and tested her aim by taking her to a game arcade and letting her shoot some zombies or whatever the fuck they were. That she likes and she's good at, much more than following some poor bastard and then having to explain why she was walking much too close. She needs to work on her bullshitting though, she can't find every dumb shit 'incredibly attractive.' I've got her running up and down the park, but that shit's irrelevant now, she's passed that test. I'm figuring out how to explain to Jane that I kill people for money and I think she'd be good at it too. Jane runs over to me, her skin covered in a light sheen of sweat and I swallow and stare intently stare at the trees. Dear God, you couldn't have picked a shittier punishment for my many sins.

"There a dead bird up there or something? And pass me my jacket before I die from the cold."

I throw her the bright red hooded jacket I've held for her and she pulls it on. Fuck it, it's now or never. Better to be straight with her and let her make her own choice. Gently does it though, I can't risk her taking off. I'm surprised every morning when I wake up and find she's still there. I always half expect to come down one morning and find her gone. She clocks the stop watch in my other hand.

"So, how'd I do?"

"I dunno. I didn't press start."

"You mean I ran around the park in the cold for no reason? Thanks, dumbass. I really enjoyed it."

"Jane, sit down and listen to me. I got something to ask."

"Well, I'm flattered but I'm too young to become Mrs DeMartino."

Jane as my wife, I fucking wish. I nod my head at the empty space on the bench next to me and she sits down. We sit in silence for a while and listen to the sound of distant traffic, our breath visible in the cold air.

"Do you know what I do for a living, Jane?"

"No. I kind of assumed that you worked the door at a club going on the way you kicked that asshole's butt in the alley. Maybe some debt collecting. I don't know. You go out at funny hours so I know you don't have a regular office job."

I look at her, try to judge her reaction. She doesn't seem scared or disturbed by the thought of me having a violent job. I've known plenty of psycho door guys in my time and so's Jane, going on the amount of clubs she used to go to. I pick up the bag between my feet and sit it on her lap.

"At the bottom is a blue washbag. Open it up, just don't take it out of the bag."

I watch as she opens the zip and pushes stuff out the way to get the washbag. Hidden inside is a revolver, one of my standard pieces which I carry in case some idiot decides to start on me. It's small enough to be hidden and not attract attention from the cops, but deadly enough for me to blow a prick's brains out. I hear Jane unzip the washbag and her eyebrows raise as she sees the gun, a nervous look crosses her face.

"There's a bottle of water in there. Get it out then if anyone's been watching it looks like you've been looking for that. Zip the washbag up and make sure you put the sweater back on top of it and then put the bag back on the ground when you've zipped everything back up. Don't panic, you ain't got nothing to worry about."

She takes the bottle of water from the bag and fumbles as she closes everything back up. She drops the bag on the floor and her hands shake slightly as she opens the bottle of water before she chugs it back. I let her be for a moment, it's gotta be a lot to take in for her. Jane lowers the bottle from her lips and inhales slowly.

"You couldn't have shown me that in the house?"

"Nah. You'd be in a confined space and you'd panic. If you're outdoors you can think better, more rationally and not go nuts."

"Why are you showing me this anyway?"

"Because you need to know who I am, what I do. I'm not a doorman or a debt collector, though I've worked as both in times gone by. I'm a hitman, Jane. A hired gun. If someone needs to disappear, I'm the guy who does it and gets rid of the body. I'm not tied to any organisation, any gang. I work for anyone as long as they pay me and as long the person that's disappearing is an adult male I don't ask questions."

She's gonna get up and leave now. She's still sat next to me though. I stare at my shoes.

"Okay, so you kill people for money. What the fuck are you telling me for? Is there some sort of underworld code that I don't know about? Do all the hitmen go to all the hookers and 'fess up to get a discount or something? Is it some sort of mutual agreement that no-one goes to the cops with information and protects each other?"

"No, I... listen to me."

"Or was this all a ruse to get me on side and now you're gonna tell me that I owe you big time and that I better start whoring myself out again to pay off my debt? Well, fuck you. Kick me out, hit me, shoot me in the fucking head if you want to but I am not your slave."

"Jane, would you _please_ shut your fucking _hole_ and _listen_ to me?"

I feel myself getting frustrated with her. Kids, they're all the same, always think they know everything. She looks at me, her cheeks flush the same red that they did when I first met her. Neither of us breaks the gaze and we stare at each other, both breathing heavily.

"You know that when you're pissed off your eye does a weird bulgy thing, right?"

"No shit. I'm over half a century old, sweetheart. I think I realised by now that my eye goes nuts."

She rolls those big blue eyes of hers and tension seems to drain from her.

"So, my hole is shut and I'm listening."

"Firstly, I told you that I would never pimp you out and I meant it. And yes, there is a sort of underworld code but not in the way you describe it. When I saw you for the first time, holding your own against that hood, I knew that you had a talent. Most girls would have been on the floor a lot sooner than you went down. Then, after I started to walk away from you, you got in front of me so quick and quiet I didn't even notice. You're strong and you'll get stronger, you can be inconspicuous when you remember not to get too close, you got a good aim and you know not to draw attention to youself. And what I say next is meant as a weird compliment, but there's a detached side to you. You can switch off and not think about what you're doing, you just do it and get cash at the end of it. In this world, there ain't much difference between sex and death when you're selling it and whatever you did in your head when you were a hooker you can do sending someone to meet their maker. I'm not gonna lie, it's a dangerous job and you gotta be the best or you end up at the bottom of the river but I think you could do it. Plus, I never asked what you charged before but I guess that the pay for this would be better. Whether you have the instinct to do the job can only be proved one way though."

I draw breath and I look back up at the trees, I don't want to look at her reaction until I hear her voice. I don't think I could take it if I saw disgust, or hate, on her face.

"You think I could kill?"

"Jane, I think you could do anything if you put your mind to it."

I glance at her and she stares at her hands, pulling on her fingers gently. The earrings glint again, dull silver catches the pale light.

"If I said I was interested would I have do it straight away?"

"No, I gotta train you before I could even let you fire at rats, let alone people."

"Could I stop if I decided I didn't like it?"

"Of course. I won't throw you to the wolves like I was. Whatever there is to know about this trade I'll tell you. The highs, the lows, every detail, you'll know. If you decide then it ain't for you, then we can look at finding you something else to do. You don't have to decide now either. Take your time."

Jane's eyes have gone blank, as if she can't focus and that red flush has gone, leaving her ghostly white. Get your ass into gear DeMartino, she's had the shock of her life, say something. No words come though, so I slide my hand into hers. She grips tightly and my hand seems to tingle. I wonder if I'm doing the right thing. She's younger than I was when I started this, and I had a war behind me. Too late now though, this particular genie is outta the lamp and there's no going back. She's doesn't loosen her grip on my hand and I don't pull away so we just sit looking across the park in a still, perfect silence.


	4. Chapter 4

"_Jane, I think you could do anything if you put your mind to it."_

Strange how a few words can make a small difference to an ego that has been crushed for years. Nobody has ever really told me I am good at anything. My parents don't care about much beyond their own _experiences_ and being a Lane marked me as a waste of space at school. From the moment I started my education teachers looked at me and rolled their eyes, immediately writing me off as one of those kids that could be safely ignored. I sigh and sink myself underneath the water in the bathtub, drowning out the world and the sound of Anthony singing some old army song. I want to ask him if he was in the army, I want to ask him a lot of things but he isn't forthcoming. I've asked more about his childhood and he just says 'It was a long time ago, don't think about it. I don't.' My oxygen begins to give out and I push myself up so my head in above water again. I think about his job offer to train me as a hitman, or hitwoman in my case I suppose. I'm gonna do it, or try to do it at least. I've already fallen so far there's no point in trying to stop from going any further. I stare at the faint cracks that run along the ceiling and raise my right arm at it, warm water running down to my chest, my first two fingers stretched in the shape of a gun.

"Eat lead, Ms Li."

* * *

I get out the bath and dry myself quickly before pulling on some sweatpants and Anthony's old t shirt that has **You may have the universe if I may have Italy** on the front. I walk downstairs to find him sitting on the couch reading one the zillions of biographies he has. I can't move in this house without falling over a book about Napoleon or Genghis Khan or whoever. I stare at the back of his head for a while and watch as remains lost to the world reading like I used to when I was painting. We seem to spend a lot of time looking at each other. He looks at me sometimes and I swear his face says 'Jesus Christ, what the fuck is she doing? Dumbass.' I walk over to the couch quietly and sit next to him, leaning in close to see if I can see what is so fascinating. He smells faintly of soap and I feel him inhale slightly and stiffen as I lean in front of his book.

"What's Garibaldi up too?"

I look around at him and see he's staring at the book, his fingers grip the sides tightly. I shift away quickly, not wanting to piss him off for reading over his shoulder and I think I catch him as I move when I hear him moan slightly. He closes his book and throws it gently on the table before he looks over to me.

"He's just gone to Brazil and joined the gaucho rebels. I've been meaning to say I have a book on an artist called Juan Gris that you might like. I've also been meaning to ask if you've thought any more about my offer. I've a few ideas for training if you have."

"Well, I've started making gun shapes with my fingers and mentally killed at least six people now so I think I've made my decision. I'm gonna do it. It would be a shame to let my gifts go to waste."

I try and keep my voice light and nonchalant but the doubt is at the back of my mind. I'm terrified that I'll fuck it up and that I'll lose the respect Anthony gives me. I don't know if I can aim straight, or if I'm strong enough or if whatever he teaches me will stick and what his reaction will be if he finds he's badly misjudged me and he's saddled with a stupid girl who can't do anything apart from doodle some crappy sketches that nobody wants. My old gym teacher used to call me out on this every time in class whenever I didn't try to dodge the ball or whatever crap she wanted me to do. _'I understand that your parents didn't raise you to do anything other than dodge responsibility of any kind Jane, but try to dodge the ball at least once. I broke Penny's determination to do nothing and I'm going to break yours so do me a favour and make it easy on us both. Those doodles will get you nowhere in life.'_ Every fucking lesson she did that and at the top of her voice so everyone knew what a pointless waste of oxygen I am. I feel a tap on my shoulder and I'm shook from my memories. Anthony's looking at me with concern. His eyes are a very pale blue, almost grey. I never noticed before. I'd love to find a paint that colour.

"You zoned out for a minute there. I thought I was gonna have to shake you."

"Sorry. Got lost in my own thoughts."

"We all do it. I do it all the time. Nearly walked into a fucking lamp post the other day."

I smile at the thought and he grins.

"Listen Jane, you don't have to sound so flippant about it. You got any questions about it then you just need to ask me. It's a hard choice, especially if you've never had any dealings with this aspect of the world before."

Finally, a chance to get him to talk. I'm gonna take it and run with it.

"How old where you when you first killed someone?"

"In this job? I was twenty six, 19th July 1975, the Bronx. I shot a guy who had snitched to the cops for another guy. The actual first kill. 8th March 1968, Khe Sanh, Vietnam. I was nineteen."

I try to imagine him as my age, in a uniform, in a war. I can't do it, he looks like he was born about twenty five and has just aged from that. I can't imagine me in a war, especially one like Vietnam. I can imagine him as a young man though, looking tough in a 70s suit. I bet he was a good lay. I bet he still is. I did not just think that.

"What does it feel like to kill someone?"

The words just come out of nowhere and he looks at me, his pale eyes blank. He doesn't see me at all, God knows what he's thinking. Who he's seeing. That first guy in the Bronx, that first guy in Vietnam, someone else.

"The first time I didn't really know what the fuck I was doing, to be honest my main reaction was that I thought I was gonna shit myself. I only saw the guy, the kid really, go down and knew I'd killed him because he was right in my firing line and nobody else's. He was alive and then he wasn't, but I still was. That's all I cared about at that time, that I lived. He was a distance from me though. The first time I ever killed someone and I could see the whites of their eyes, I dunno. The power of deciding life and death is intoxicating, Jane. It is one of the few opportunities to feel like a God. I'd been subordinate my whole life, I wanted that power. I liked that power."

His voice is low and anyone else my age would be shit scared about the tone of his voice. He's not angry, or intimidating. He's speaking about it like it's pleasurable, which is true I guess because killing gives you power and power is an aphrodisiac. Not long after I started selling sex I serviced a guy who had blood on his shirt and pants and he went at me hard and fast. He'd probably just killed someone too. That bit doesn't interest me much though, sex generally doesn't anymore, despite being able to judge if people would be good in the sack. It's hard to think of sex as anything more than another transaction. The power thing on the other hand, I like the idea of that. I love of the idea of going back home and pointing a gun at every fuck who ever put me down, just to see the look on their faces. Jane Lane's not so worthless now, is she?

"You've zoned out again."

"Sorry. Anyway, as Mathilda asked Leon, in a situation that is reminiscent of ours I might add, do you kill anybody?"

"No kids, ever. You ask me to do that and I put a bullet in between your eyes. I don't kill women either. I'm proud to say I've mostly managed to stick to that rule."

Mostly, he says. I'll leave that one unasked. He raises his eyebrow at me and grins again.

"So, are you gonna do it?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna do it."

"Stand up then. Go stand next to the dresser and wait."

I'm confused and he nods his head towards an empty space on the floor and walks into the kitchen. I assume he's gone to get a gun or something for practice so I get up and stand in the spot. He walks back in and in his hand is a plastic knife, the kind a kid would have on Halloween. He looks ridiculous standing there with a child's toy and I stifle a laugh as he throws the thing up into the air and catches it. I watch as he throws it higher and higher and catches it neatly. The whole thing is absurd and I amuse myself in watching him throw, not sure what the point of this is. That is until he moves so quickly I have no chance to get out the way. I feel his hands slide round my waist and he drags me roughly to the floor. Panic kicks in as I fall and I thrash about, aiming blows at his head and chest as we land to the floor, him on top of me and pinning me down with his weight. My back hits the floor and pain shoots across my shoulder blades as they bang against the carpet. I gulp down the urge to scream and try to push him off, try to bring my legs up to catch him in the groin and push at his chest. He easily knocks away my hands and brings his own arm up roughly, pressing the edge of the plastic knife to my throat.

"And you're dead. A hit is not always sitting on a roof with a sniper rifle or planting a bullet in someone's chest when they open the door. Sometimes you won't have your gun. Sometimes they know why you are there and people will do anything to survive. You lost because you go distracted. Don't watch the knife, watch the person."

I take deep breaths to get some air in my lungs and I feel his chest press heavily against mine as he does the same. Our eyes lock and I can't bring myself to look away, I just look at him. After a minute, but what feels like an age, he takes a deep gulp of air and pushes himself up. Iremain on the floor, and he grabs my hand and pulls me up. I stand and sway for a second, the fall was hard, and focus myself so that I don't topple over again. Anthony's holding my arm, steadying me and he pushes a hand through my hair and tucks it behind my ear.

"You okay, sweetheart?"

"I'm okay. I just didn't expect that so quickly."

"Try again?"

I nod and stand back on the spot. He picks the toy knife up from the floor and grips it in his hand and begins to circle me. I step back and turn from left to right as he does, trying to work out a pattern. I attempt to keep my eyes on his face and his arms but my eyes go back to the knife. He whistles and my attention goes back to him as he moves a step forward. I'm too late to dodge and he grabs me again and pushes the toy into my ribcage under my left breast.

"Dead again, Jane. Concentrate."

I move back in readiness this time but he just slinks away, raising that stupid fucking toy to chest level and waving it wildly. I step back, expecting him to lunge, but he remains where he is, moving from one side to the other. My eyes look at the knife again and he clicks his fingers beforemotioning to his eyes with his fingers. We circle each other slowly and I take in my surroundings, I lead him backwards, make him follow me. I misjudge my step and my hip hits the corner of a table, another jolt of sharp pain goes through me. My gaze just about meets his as he lunges again and I jump quickly away from the table. Anthony misses me by barely an inch and he uses the table to steady himself. On the table is a heavy hardback book on the Russian Revolution. I quickly lean over, grab it and bring it down on his head as he turns. He lets out a low groan and I use the distraction to clumsily push him down and make a grab for the toy knife in his hands. I miss him and I lean all my weight against him to get him lying face down on the floor. I desperately scratch at his hands and try to pry his fingers from the handle whilst kneeing him in the back to stop him from throwing me off. I want that toy knife. If I have to smack the book over his head again I will get it off him. He's saying something, I don't know what, I just claw at his hand. I want that fucking knife.

"Jesus _Christ_ Jane. Get the fuck offa _me_."

His voice shakes me back into reality, I'm fighting over a kid's toy. I get off and grab his hand and yank him up from the floor. I pull him a little too hard and I stagger back against the couch. Anthony rubs his back where I shoved my knee into it.

"Shit Anthony, I'm sorry. I got a little carried away there."

"It's okay. You did what I asked you to do. And you didn't knee me in the balls so thank you for that."

"I didn't get the knife though."

"Doesn't matter. You got me down and you went for it. That's all I wanted. You did great. I couldn't have asked for more offa you. And now, I'm gonna have a little sit down."

He falls onto the couch and picks up his Garibaldi book again. I look down at the plastic knife that he's left on the floor. I know what he means, about that desire for power. I was having a friendly training fight with a guy who wouldn't hurt me and I still would have killed him for that toy. The sense of well being, the sense of esteem, is dizzying. All the school self esteem classes, sitting in front of that bitch Manson looking down her nose at me as I told her the picture was a pile of shit, couldn't have matched that. I go over to the couch and curl up next to him, lean against the arm rest and switch the television on. A commercial comes on featuring some happy, perky kids running around a sun dappled Californian high school. In no way does that resemble the general misery that was Lawndale High, with the taunts from other kids and teachers that I trained myself to ignore, creating a bullshit 'cooler than thou' front. raise my right arm and make the gun sign with my fingers like I did in bath. I raise my hand and shoot an imaginary bullet into every asshole on the screen. From next to me on the couch, I see Anthony smile.


	5. Chapter 5

"Tony, it's Al. How you doin?"

"Al, long time no speak. I'm fine, better than I've been in a long time actually. Pam and the kids okay?"

I push a cigarette between my lips and balance the phone underneath my ear. There's only two reasons Al Caruso ever calls me at home. Either he has a job lined up or I have claim that his comare is my girlfriend so that Pam doesn't threaten to call in the lawyers again. I pull my lighter from my pocket and light my smoke. This could be a long call if it's a woman problem. I really cannot be assed chaperoning some brain dead blonde gold digger for the evening so that Al doesn't get his balls chopped off.

"Yeah, Jessica's off ta college soon, Bromwell if ya can believe it. I knew she'd do well, ever since she was a kid I knew she'd do me proud. Anyway, I didn't call to discuss my kids, I rang because I ain't seen you in a while and I don't like losin' contact with my friends."

He has a job lined up. If this was about some bimbo he'd tell me over the phone. A sudden burst of traffic noise floods the room as Jane walks through the front door, clutching a bag of groceries to her chest, her hair swept across her face from the wind. I motion her over and lower my cigarette, exhaling a thin film of smoke in front of my eyes.

"Sure. Where do you wanna meet? The usual place?"

Jane comes up next to me and I turn to face her so that she can hear Al easier. She lifts my other hand to her face and takes a drag from the cigarette dangling there. I watch as her chest rises as she inhales and her head tilts back slightly, exposing her long, slim neck as she drops my hand. Is she tormenting me on fucking purpose? I look down at the cigarette butt. The end has been coloured a bright red.

"Yeah, the usual sounds good. I could do with a drink. My fucking brother in law thinks I'm gonna pay for his new car. Do I look like a fucking charity?"

Jane smirks at that and I realise I should bring up the fact she is gonna be coming along. Not that she knows yet.

"Hey, Al. I'm gonna bring a friend along for you to meet. They, uh, have just changed careers and are looking for work. I thought you might point em in the right direction."

I hear him breathe in sharply. I speak before he can reply.

"You vouch for me you can vouch for them."

"That's for me to decide. Okay, I'll see ya in an hour."

A click followed by the dialling tone tells me he's gone. Jane has an inquisitive look on that beautiful, expressive face of hers. I hand her the cigarette and she takes another drag.

"The guy on the phone was Al Caruso. Me and him go back longer than I care to remember and he calls me from time to time with a few jobs, nothing too bad normally and I thought one of his is probably the best one to show for demonstration purposes. He's also a very useful guy for you to know. If he hasn't got work, he knows someone who will. You're coming with me so you see what goes down on a hit."

She stubs the cigarette out in the ashtray and pushes her hand through her hair. She looks to the floor and I notice she has started to nervously tap her feet.

"What if I freak out?"

"Then you go stand outside and wait for me. Jane,"

I place my fingers under her chin and tilt her head up so her eyes meet mine. Fear mingles with curiosity in them.

"You'll be fine. So let's go, otherwise Al will be pissed and he'll pick someone really dumb to fuck next time, just to piss me off."

"What?"

"I'll tell you later."

* * *

We have our usual radio war in the car. I normally have it on a classic rock station, or a classical station. Jane, however, insists on changing it to some modern rock shit that sounds like kids being put through a meat grinder. At the moment the excuse for a song playing is some guy repeating a list of narcotics over and over again. I shake my head at what passes for music these days.

"Anthony, stop shaking your head. You look like my Uncle Max when he's told only soft drinks are available."

"What the fuck is this shit? This isn't music. This is just noise from a bunch of assholes. Listing a bunch of drugs over and over again ain't lyrics either."

"Firstly, Queens Of The Stone Age are amazing. Secondly, this song isn't noise, it makes me wanna dance. And thirdly most of the music you listen to was made by people out of their minds on coke or H."

"Yeah, but the musicians I listen to made some of the all time great songs on drugs. I doubt this crap will be listed amongst them."

"Yeah, cos Annette Funicello is one of the all time musical greats."

She rolls her eyes and stares out the window. People pass by on their daily chores. They shop, they go to eat, they go home from work. Not one of them realises there's a whole other world just beyond them that's also going on. They haggle on the price of insurance. I haggle on the price of killing someone. They sell consumer goods. Girls like Jane sell themselves. They are everything and we are nothing. Still, everyone's got to make a living. I pull up a few doors down from the bar. The daylight is starting to dim and the headlights of the cars rush past in a blur. I tap Jane on the arm and she glances at me.

"We're here. The bar is just over there, the green place. That's Murphy's. Al works outta there, you ever do a job for him he'll meet you there. Now listen. You shooting your mouth off at me is fine. You shoot your mouth at him and that's not. Until you get to know him anyway, then you got a bit of leeway. Oh, and if he hits on you just smile. He prefers blondes with big tits so you're fine. "

"What are you trying to say?"

"That a middle aged, overweight, balding man won't try to sleep with you."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time."

Jesus Christ, my poor, sweet Jane. We get out the car and walk towards the soft pale light of Murphy's. The wind is fucking vicious and I have no idea how Jane, slight as she is, remains upright so I take her by her arm. We're about half way to the bar and I wonder if I should get her a whiskey or a vodka to calm her a little bit when some guy blocks our path. He stands so close to us I nearly fall over him and Jane stumbles. He must be about mid thirties, pale brown hair and just a little taller than Jane. He looks at us both with a big, shit eating grin, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He clutches a Bible in his hand and some leaflets. The last thing I need is the fucking God squad now. I try and move out the way but he steps in front of me.

"Excuse me. Have you found the love and light of our saviour, Jesus Christ?"

Jane answers for us.

"No, and neither has he. So thanks, but we have to go somewhere."

She motions towards the bar and his eyes follow her, from the tips of her fingers and then all over her body. He looks at her with a very unholy interest, and then me with pity and it takes all I have not punch him in the face. That inane fucking grin returns to his face.

"Many people turn to alcohol and other earthly distractions in times of need and trouble in their lives. However, these are just temptations placed on earth by Satan to lure us from the path of righteousness and it is only by rejecting Satan and his tools of inebriation, fornication and greed that we can find peace and the enlightenment within the Lord to lead better, more humble lives in Christ's love. When we have achieved that on earth we may ascend to Heaven. "

Fuck this.

"What's your name?"

"Timothy. Timothy O'Neill."

"Well Timothy O'Neill. Looking at all the stuff I've done in my time there's only one way I'm going and that's down. And my friend here. Well, look at her. That face alone guarantees her entrance into heaven."

I hear her laugh softly.

"Oh Anthony. I'd much rather go to hell. I look better in red than white and I believe my particular talents would come in much more useful there. Come on, let's go."

She gives him the sultriest smile I've ever seen and blows him a kiss and his shit eating grin slips slightly as she walks off. I follow her and give him my own big, stupid grin in return. We make our way into the bar and through the smoke I see Al sitting at the back. He's got even fatter since the last time I saw him and his black hair has receded further so the light shines from the sweat on the top of his head. He looks up as we walk towards his seat and his gaze moves from me to Jane then back to me. He leers at me and mouths "lucky bastard" as he beckons us over to sit down. The fucking pervert, judging me by his standards. We slip into the seats across from him and shakes my hand and then Jane's. I do the introductions. I'm gonna let him know I trust Jane with my life before we get too far in. Guys like Al are cautious and if their suspicions are roused they're dangerous with it.

"Jane, this is Albert Caruso, an employer of mine. Al, this is Jane Lane, my apprentice. I can vouch for her, Al, otherwise I wouldn't have brought her into your bar."

Al's eyes shoot up half way across his forehead and he looks at Jane, this time not with a leer but with interest. He raises the Scotch to his mouth and takes a swig before waving the tumbler at Jane.

"You know Jane, you are a rarity. Firstly, not many women come into this line of work, especially girls your age. You can't be much older than my daughter. And more importantly, you know the last time Tony DeMartino accepted someone for training? 1989. It don't happen often. Tony's the kinda guy who thinks ninety per cent of this planet are retards worthy o' contempt. You must have something more than a pretty face, but I can tell ya it won't have gone unnoticed by him."

He gives me an evil grin and I glare at him and mouth 'asshole', not daring to look at the girl next to me.

"She's got talent and instinct. I'm showing her the ropes but she needs to know how a job is set up and normally you got good straight forward work. I always think there's no better learning than on the job training. Jane gets to watch me work and then she has an idea before she does it herself. She knows how this world works too."

"So, he's sorta easing you in gently Jane?"

I could kill this prick sometimes. Everything is sexual with Al, all his thinking is done with his dick. Jane doesn't seem disturbed too much. I guess she's heard worse. Whilst he waves some more whiskey over for us, I pat her leg just above her knee and she takes my hand and squeezes it. I go numb for a second before the bartender comes over with two tumblers. I wave mine away and Al dismisses the guy before leaning in towards us and turns on a radio on the table. The air fills with static sound.

"Okay. I've known Tony long enough and if he trusts ya Jane, I trust ya. He wouldn't bring trouble to my door. I got a contract on this guy in the Heights. He owes me a lotta money and he's been avoiding his payments. Now, I know he ain't got the cash to pay up so he's a problem. Well, he was a problem. He ain't no more, I want you to whack him. Send a message that if ya can't pay back then don't borrow money. Abstain and shit. So, it's a quick job. He lives in an apartment two blocks away from here on 36th. Apartment 415, the mailbox says Glenwood. That's the guy. In the lobby there'll be a guy who will point him out to ya, just so ya know who to hit when the time's right. I need ya to watch him for a few days, wait for a convenient moment then ice him. Tony, you'll know when's best. Make sure it's quick and quiet and call me when you're done."

"No problem. What you offering?"

"Ten grand?"

"Ten grand? Are you shitting me Al? I wouldn't haul my ass round to 36th for that to whack the guy now, never mind watching the guy for a few days too. Twenty."

"Thirteen."

"Eighteen."

"Seventeen and a half."

"Done."

He leans back and takes another swig of the whiskey. I look at Jane to see how's she doing. I have to hand it to her, she hasn't even changed her expression. She sips at her whiskey and grimaces as she swallows.

"Whiskey's a strange thing, sweetheart. You either love it or you hate it. So, you up for this?"

She takes a bigger gulp and screws her face up, shaking her head in distaste. Al smirks and takes the tumbler from her, knocking the rest back. No point in letting good liquor go to waste.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

"Before you two go, I gotta ask. She got her own weapons yet?"

"Not yet."

Al rummages in his pockets and pulls out a pen and and paper, scribbling something on it. He hands it over and I see it's an address somewhere downtown, near where I used to play poker in years gone by. I miss poker, some days I'd give my left ball for another game.

"Look for a Russian hardware shop. Turn left round the back and there's some steps leading down to a basement. Guy who runs the place is called Bogdan. Tell him I sent ya. He'll give ya both a good price on whatever you need. Call me in a few days when you're done then I can let him know you're on the way. He'll be expecting ya."

His phone starts to ring and we turn away, leaving him to his call. I squeeze past some already drunk assholes who look like they are about to lamp each other and brace myself as the wind hits me. It feels like it's gonna blow lungs clean out my chest. I turn to make sure Jane is still okay and she gives me the thumbs up. As we make our way to the car we pass Timothy, who is no longer smiling but looks at us with suspicion and mistrust, as if our presence defiles his own imagined purity. A strong gust of wind catches us all and rips the leaflets from his hand, sending them blowing down the street, raining God's word on the unsuspecting, uncaring masses. Ignoring his calls to help him as he chases them down the street, Jane and I get in the car to go to start our own particular mission, one that will send us both one step closer to hell.


	6. Chapter 6

This Glenwood guy's apartment is about a ten minute drive from the bar and neither of us has spoken throughout the journey. The building itself is one of those old, brownstone buildings that this city seems full of. Anthony drives past and parks up a few doors down in front of a garage, to anyone looking at us we aren't doing anything out of the ordinary, therefore nobody notices us at all. He leans over and switches the radio off, cutting out Led Zeppelin, he won the radio war this journey. He looks at me and in the yellow street lights illuminating his face, for the first time I can see it. The look of a hitman.

"Al will have called the person who is supposed to meet us to let him know we are on the way. He will come up to us to identify himself and the mark. Always be wary of these people Jane. They're rats. They sell out acquaintances, friends, even family for a quick buck so don't trust 'em as far as you can throw the bastards. He'll furnish us with some details about the mark's routine and such and then we can start surveillance. As soon as we figure out a routine for the guy, like making sure he's alone, times he comes and goes, work patterns and such, then we end it. Deep breath Jane, we're on."

I watch him as he gets out the car and I marvel at how calm he is. I know he's been doing this for years and this is just another kill for him but I still can't understand how. I wonder if I will ever get to that state, that complete state of almost obliviousness. When I was streetwalking I used to sing 'White Rabbit' in my head as that was the only song I could remember the words to. I follow him out the car, slightly behind him so we don't look like we are together. I remember his lectures as he had me following people down the street, don't get to close, keep them in sight and act natural. He looks round for me and on seeing me calls down to me.

"Keep up."

Jesus, make up your mind. I do this stupid little jog to catch up with him and we walk to the front of the apartment block. A guy holds the door open for us and I walk inside. He's a thin, gaunt looking guy with blond greasy hair hanging over his face and a battered leather jacket. He looks at me and Anthony and sizes us up as if he owns the place. Anthony's right, he does look like a slimy shit. I hope all assholes are this easy to identify. Not fucking likely though, if the Lane family luck is anything to go by.

"Hey, you sent by Al, about Mikey Glenwood? I'm Ross."

He holds out his hand to Anthony, who ignores it and beckons him over to a corner of the lobby, away from the doors and the elevators. We walk over to the mailboxes in the corner. Ross hands over a photo to Anthony of the mark. Well, whaddya know. He's just a plain old Average Joe. Brown hair, brown eyes, check shirt, no scars or marks. So much for my hopes they all look like creeps like Ross. Oh well.

"This is Mikey. He's works at an electronics store over on 5th. I can't remember the name but you'll know it, it's the only one on the street. He normally gets home between 7 and 7.30, depending if he goes for a couple of beers after work. He lives alone, has no girlfriend, and his family are in Wisconsin. You hang around for a while and he'll show up."

I look at my watch, it's 6.45. Me and Anthony take a seat by the mailboxes and flip through the leaflets on display, advertising community plays and local jazz band nights. Ross goes back to loitering around the stairwell. Five minutes pass and then ten. I'm rereading a leaflet about a high school production of 'Oklahoma' for what seems like the hundredth time when the door opens and I hear Ross call out.

"Mikey, my man."

I glance up and it's him alright. Same unremarkable features, dressed in a white shirt and black pants. I look back at the leaflet.

"Ross, how long have you been waiting dude?"

"Oh, about twenty minutes. It's cool. I was just passing by and remembered I owe you a beer. You wanna go for a drink?"

"Nah man, it's cool. I ordered pizza and I'm slowing down man, cutting back in the partying. You can stay for food, I can always call for more stuff."

They chat a while longer, about some girl they know who has just moved to San Francisco and finally Ross leaves, no doubt to collect his blood money. Jerk, I hope he gets hit by a truck. Mikey Glenwood gets in the elevator and I look at him through my hair as the door shuts. I get up, expecting to leave now we know the mark but Anthony shakes his head.

"Pizza's coming. Look for a routine."

I sit back down and lean my head against the cool window. I shut my eyes, I feel so tired suddenly and I could just sleep where I sit. The slow, seductive feeling of sleep starts to creep over me and I feel myself start to drift further away from the lobby. I'm almost asleep when I feel a light tap to my knee.

"Wake up."

I force my eyes open and through the white mist in front of my eyes as they adjust to the light I'm aware of the door opening. I look round and a kid not much older than me with greased back hair wearing a shirt the colours of the Italian flag walks in with a pizza box. His name badge says he called Bobby and he speaks into the intercom asking Mikey to let him up. The delivery boy enters the waiting elevator and he leaves me and Anthony alone. An idea starts to form in my mind as the elevator moves up. I lean across so that I can whisper in his ear.

"Listen. From the way the delivery boy was speaking, he knows this Glenwood by name. Now back in Lawndale the pizza delivery guy knew me and Trent by name cos we ordered in most nights. Which means this guy probably does the same. So, we find out the name of pizza place, I can hang around and listen for his order and see if I can find anything out. Then we can become the delivery."

Anthony tips his face towards mine and a small, impressed smile flits across his mouth before he leans in to whisper into my ear.

"Good plan. Wait in the background, if you're going in there I don't want them to recognise you"

I lean back and wait for the kid to return. After about five minutes the elevator opens and Bobby the delivery boy strides out. Anthony gets up and spins some bullshit story about needing a menu for the person we are apparently waiting for. He gets one and the as the delivery guy walks out he hands it to me. The place is called Gino's. I don't really know where it is but I guess it must be local. Another idea forms in my mind. If I'm going in and I can't be recognised then I should be unrecognisable.

He wakes me at six. Apparently we need to get to 36th to see what time the mark leaves his house and follow him on his way to work so we can get an idea of how long it takes between his place and his work. I am not impressed at being woken so early in the morning and only the promise of coffee, bagels and doughnuts gets me to haul my ass out of bed. I didn't think it would be like this. I thought it was just turning up and blowing someone's head off. Then again I thought I was going to come to this city and end up a famous artist so what do I know? Jack shit it seems. I somehow dress myself and stagger downstairs and drag myself to the car. I practically fall into the car and lean my head against the cold window, and close my eyes. I know I must have fallen straight to sleep as the next thing I know I feel a tap on my shoulder.

"We're here. Jane, this will be long and boring but that's the way it goes. We sit and wait for him to leave his house. From here to 5th is about thirty minutes so assuming none of these cars is his he either walks or gets the subway. When we find that out we follow him. In a car always two or three car lengths behind. Walking, enough distance so that you are close enough to keep an eye, not close enough to recognised. I call it 7.15."

With that he turns his attention to the building and we both watch the front door. Suddenly my tiredness has gone and I'm alert to any sights and sounds around the building. Anthony has pinned up a picture of the mark on the dashboard and I glance at it, frightened I'll forget what he looks like. The minutes spin out and the tension that builds inside me is unbearable. I ball my palms so tightly I can feel my nails dig deep into flesh and bite on my lip. I want to make sarcastic remarks to Anthony about the couple who have just walked by, sticking their tongues down each other's throat but I can't speak. He looks so calm, as if he's just waiting for a bus. I want to shake him to, make him feel as nervous as I am. I don't. I just sit and stare. Finally, at 8.20 Mikey Glenwood strolls out of his building and down the street. I take my cue from Anthony, who watches him get half way down and then gets out the car. I follow quickly, and we cross over, weaving in between cars at a red light. We keep a few yards behind and mirror his movements. When he slows down, we do. When he stops to get a bottle of water and some gum, we linger at a bus stop, pretending to look at times. He doesn't even notice us once. Why would he? To all the world we are just two people who happen to be going towards 5th. As we turn onto 5th there is a huge electronics store, with every conceivable gadget displayed and the mark walks inside. Anthony looks at his watch.

"8.40. Twenty minutes from home to work. Last night he got in at seven and he doesn't go out much anymore so I guess he finishes sometime after six. We'll make sure that we're around here from about five onwards and watch him on the way back."

"What do we do now?"

"We wait. That and I promised you breakfast so let's go. I know what you're like when you haven't eaten. I'd hate to be anyone on the end of Jane Lane's empty stomach."

We spend the day in the area. We find out he spends his lunch hour on the internet, shovelling food into his mouth as he stares at the screen. When he goes back to work we spend the afternoon browsing in stores, with Anthony doing his usual 'music/clothes/furniture was better in my day' rant. Which is strange cos most of it looks like shit to me. At five we sit across from the store and watch for him to come out. I feel like a detective, staking a guy out, watching their every move. Glenwood leaves work at 6.30 and immediately whips out a cell phone and makes a call as he starts to walk home. We follow him home again, as he walks down the same route that he took this morning, though at a slower pace. Anthony takes my wrist a couple of times and pulls me back, mouthing 'slow down' at me. I can't help it, I want to know everything now. And that's not the way it works. When the mark gets back to his building around seven we go back to the car. A small van catches my eye, it's the pizza place and out comes Bobby. Jesus, they must make a fortune from this guy. We watch in silence as he comes and goes and for the next hour we keep watching, until Anthony decides that's enough and we go home.

And so it went for two days and soon the novelty wore off. The mark gets up, he goes to work, orders pizza on his way home and stays there all evening. Today's Thursday and I'm bored as hell of sitting around on 5th all day and Anthony is of off on a 'in my day marks used to spend their evenings doing coke with hookers in back alley poker games' rant, which I ignore. The plus side to all this monotony is that Anthony decides we should do it tonight as we know he has a routine, rather than run the risk of doing it tomorrow night. He leans in as we sit on a bench outside a drugstore near the electronics place.

"Okay Jane, this is the plan. You go into the pizza place, do whatever you have to do. Keep an eye on the time and listen for his order. If it is the place I'm thinking of there's a payphone across the street. I'll be there. You give me a signal, say, Christ I dunno, um.."

"Tiffany. I'll shout Tiffany, as if I know someone."

"Okay, Tiffany. You shout that and I'll ring through and cancel the order. You make your excuses and leave. I'll be in the car at the end of the  
street and you come meet me. I'll park up a coupla streets away and go the long way round to the building. You follow me a few minutes later the shorter way and we'll meet at the front. We'll say we're pizza and we go up. Got that?"

"Yeah, but before that I have a plan. Can you lend me sixty dollars?"

That afternoon I make my way into the store around the corner from Anthony' house which sells women's clothing. The smell of cheap perfume and  
hairspray hits me straight as soon I walk in and nearly takes the skin on the back of my throat off. The place is filled with deeply tanned, bleached blonde airheads who all stop and look at me as I walk in, I guess looking like I do is unseen in here. Well, I'm gonna make this quick because prolonged exposure to this atmosphere could knock ten years off my life expectancy. I spy some white pumps that I know I could run in should I have to haul my ass somewhere quick. I move over to the sunglasses rack and pick up a pair of horrendous pink lensed rimless glasses with a small diamanté heart on the bottom left lens and an even worse pale pink trucker cap from a nearby shelf. I push the hat and glasses on and most of my face disappears. That's good. I mean, I look like a complete dick, but I'm hard to identify. I go to pay when I stop dead in my tracks. In front of me is the tackiest, most tasteless pale pink velour tracksuit I've ever seen and I know that is what I need to wear. I rifle through the racks, find one in my size and hand it all over to the store clerk, all bleached hair and fake tan. She looks at me and then at the clothes, raising a painted on eyebrow.

"You, like, goin' for a new style?"

I nod, I don't trust myself to speak and not say something insulting. The girls in here look like they could turn nasty at any moment.

"You'll need new make up. That whole like, goth style don't go with these clothes. We have an offer on make up. Two lipglosses for seven dollars and bronzer for five."

I look on the counter and see a myriad of brightly coloured crap. I pull out the palest bronze shimmery stuff I can find and chose a pink and a caramel coloured lip gloss. I throw in a huge pair of gold hoop earrings for good measure. I'm going to look such a douche in all this. She tills up the goods and as I pass the money over I'm surprised that even with all the crap I've bought I can still give Anthony some change. God knows what he'll say when he sees this. She hands me my bags and I mutter a thank you and almost run out the store. As soon as I get outside I take a deep breath, glad to be free from the odour of knock off perfume and run back round to the house. It's now four thirty and I have thirty minutes. I dive into the bathroom and scrub my face clean of my own lipstick and start smearing the bronzer on my cheeks. I have no idea how to use it but I do my best. I tie my hair up in a high, tight pony tail and pull on the hideous tracksuit and sneakers, before coating my lips in the vile, sticky lipgloss and finally add the cap and glasses. I look like a terrible off duty pop singer, but I don't look like me. I walk downstairs and saunter into the kitchen, swinging my hips in the new walk I've given myself. Anthony looks up and chokes on the water he's drinking.

"Jesus Christ. You look like on of Al's many girlfriends. What the hell have you done to yourself?"

"I'm going in disguise. Suppose the cops make enquiries, they are gonna ask the pizza place guys questions. I want them to mention a girl in a pink tracksuit rather than one in red and black clothes. Same with when we go to the building, I don't want to be seen there either. For the purposes of today I'm Sandi by the way and I think we should get going. You got that menu, cos you're taking me to Gino's"

He grins and for a moment he looks years younger. I sashay out the door to the car and we drive off towards Gino's. The pizza place we know is a few blocks down from the guy's apartment and is about a ten minute drive from 36th. We drive in silence and despite my disguise I feel my stomach churn, repeating an inner mantra of 'don't fuck up' over and over again. Before I feel anything approaching ready we drive past Gino's and I notice the payphone across the street. Anthony pulls up at the end of the road, near an intersection and I make to get out the car. Before I can he pulls me towards me in a one armed hug and kisses me on the top of my head. Neither of us can speak and I smile weakly at him before I get outthe car and walk towards the place. I feel light headed and I swallow, as if trying to gulp the fear down. As I walk through the shop door I feel like I'm gonna throw up. However I smile, stick my boobs out and saunter over to the counter. The guy behind the counter, about thirty, leers at me as I wiggle over.

"Hey baby, how're you tonight?"

"I'm okay. I feel so stupid saying this but I'm lonely and hungry and I heard from some girls the pizza and the guys here are nice. Really nice. Especially the guys. I can't judge the pizza but they weren't wrong about the guys. I'm Sandi, hi."

"That's a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. I'm Jason and I'll personally make sure you get the best pizza you've ever had. Maybe more than pizza too."

He winks at me and I simper in the way that the cheerleaders used to do round members of the football team. They are going to be my major inspiration, from the sugary sweet voice to the air of easily impressed vacancy.

"I bet you're the best pizza maker in this city, best looking too. And so clever. I mean remembering all these orders. I would never be able to do that. That's a special talent."

"There ain't nothing to it. I bet you got talents too."

I lean and beckon Jason over, exposing some more of my chest as I do.

"Well, I'm very bendy."

He laughs huskily and immediately tells the guys behind the counter that whatever I want is free. I look at the time and see it's 6.30 . He's finishing work around about now. I have to spin the dumb bimbo routine out for a while longer.

"Oh you're so sweet, how did you know I was hungry? If you're sure I'll have a diet cola while you tell me how you got so good at remembering stuff."

I lean one elbow on the counter and from behind my glasses I wink. The phone rings and I fight the urge to straighten my back and show the tension I feel. Another of the pizza guys gets it and I listen to the answer, see if it's our guy. It's an order for someone called Marie a few blocks in the opposite direction and I notice that Jason has passed me my drink and has been yammering on about getting to know your regulars. I drag my attention back to him and make a none too subtle suck on the drink straw. If the streets have taught me anything it's that men generally like this sort of crap. He grins and stares at my chest. I give him a filthy grin and run my tongue round my lips before taking another big drink, this time swallowing very obviously. The time is 6.40.

"Tell me more. I'm interested to know."

"The trick is to get know your nightly regulars, cos they never normally change. Like that woman who just rang, she always orders a fourteen inch vegetarian pizza, a bag of potato wedges and two bottles of cola. At about eight some guy will ring and ask for a box of onion rings and lasagne. As soon as you get to know em you can build up a relationship you know? Keep em comin back. Maybe you'll become a regular, comin into here though."

I will never come to this place again even if wild horses dragged me here. The phone starts to ring. The guy takes an order and I hear 'Mikey'. I take a sip of my drink and lean closer to the counter.

"I'm sure I will. So, is that caller a regular customer."

"Who Mikey? Yeah. He always asks for a fourteen inch pepperoni. He lives up on 36th. They all order pepperoni on 36th. Love the stuff."

He carries on talking and I don't give a shit. I casually turn around and I know Anthony is waiting. I wait for my moment, too soon and it will look weird. I sip on my drink and let Jason carry on, he doesn't seem to notice that I've become slightly distracted as I plaster a 'I'm so interested' look on my face. I notice a car drive slowly past and I clearly see a girl sat inside. She's about to become a long lost friend. I jump off my seat and run to the door as I throw it open I scream Tiffany at the top of my lungs and wave like a freak. I look across to the payphone and see Anthony walk over to it and pick the phone up. I stumble back inside and turn to a bemused looking Jason.

"Oh my God, I gotta go. A girl I ain't seen in years is across the street and I gotta catch up to her. Thank you so much for the drink, you're so sweet. I'll leave you my number so call me."

I run forward and scribble some random numbers on a piece of paper on the counter. I hear the guy confirming the mark's order is cancelled and I turn and run out the door, yelling Tiffany as I run down the street. I run like I've never ran before until I reach Anthony's car and nearly fall into my seat. A few seconds later he gets into the car, carrying an old pizza box. He must notice my confusion because he leans under his seat and pulls out a huge revolver with a suppressor on the end. He opens the pizza box and slides the weapon inside before shutting it again. A nervous thrill runs through me.

"We're looking authentic and it's gonna hide our weapon. I found the box on the street. I'm just delivering pizza and he won't get suspicious when he opens the door."

I clutch at the box and we pull off. I can't speak, I can only swallow repeatedly. Jesus, Jane, get a grip. This isn't even my hit so why the fuck do I feel like I'm gonna throw up. Anthony puts the radio on to my station and some track I've never heard before fills the car. The song calms me though and it seems to seep through me as I find myself singing 'since I left you, I found the world so new." For once he keeps quiet about modern music being shit and we drive to the Heights. Neither of us utters a word, we just listen and occasionally I'll sing badly to a song I know to try to hide my nerves. Every so often he taps my hand and I feel calmer, only for nerves to rise again. As we pull up round the corner from the building Anthony takes a look around the street. There's a few people about but not many. He leans over and picks up the box from my lap.

"I'm gonna walk down the street and round to the apartment that way. Keep an eye on the time. After two minutes you walk round the corner and wait for me to call up with pizza. I'll let you in."

He gets out and walks off down the street, looking the exact opposite of Bobby the delivery boy. He's not some awkward asshole, he looks like he owns the street and I watch him walk away. If I'm even half as good as he is I'll do okay. I rub my hands together roughly, feeling the skin of my palms drag against each other and I stare at the clock. Anthony got out at 7.12. I'll give it til 7.15 and then I'll make a move. I stare at the car clock, which seems to have stopped. Time drags tortuously slowly as I count down the longest three minutes of my life. I lean across and lock the door on the driver's side. We need a car to come back to after all. I tap my fingers on the dashboard and hum White Rabbit, all other songs gone from my head. It's 7.14 and I feel like I'm gonna throw up with nerves as the four seems to slowly change to a five. A voice in my head screams atme to go and I get out the car, locking my door before I shut it. I make myself walk normally down the street, though my body's reaction seems to want to either run or crawl. I glance at a couple of women as they walk by, certain they know what I'm about to see. I turn the corner onto 36th and I see Anthony walk towards the entrance and I pretend I don't know him even though he's probably the person I'm closest to in the world. As I approach the door I see Anthony buzz on the entrance.

"Hey, I got your pizza."

"Thank God, I thought I was gonna die waiting for it. I'll buzz you in."

A harsh buzzer sounds, my cue to walk forwards. Anthony opens to the door and stands aside to let me in. We both walk to an elevator, one's luckily here and the lobby is empty. We get in and Anthony presses the button to the fourth floor. Apartment 415 here we come. We stand in silence again as the elevator slowly moves up, I stare at my shoes and tap my feet. I take a few deep breaths and Anthony glances at me and smiles reassuringly. With a small ding the elevator opens and nearly gives me a heart attack, as he steps out walks towards the mark's apartment. I follow him and loiter behind, as if someone is gonna stop us both. We walk along some dully lit corridor and I count the cracks on the paint on the walls until we reach a beige door with a dull 415 screwed on. Anthony knocks on the door and calls 'Pizza.' I take my last deep breath as the mark opens the door. He has a bottle of beer in his hands and I hear the dull noise of sitcom canned laughter. He grins as he sees Anthony's pizza box. This poor, stupid asshole.

"Finally. I've been waiting all day for this. Hold on a second while I find my wallet."

"Do you mind if she uses your bathroom? She's been needing to go for a while now."

Glenwood looks surprised and then stares at me. I suddenly feel very awkward and squeeze my legs together. Of course this makes me look like I'm  
desperate for a pee and he laughs.

"Sure, can't have her pissing on the floor. Come on in. Bathroom's over there."

He points to a door and I make my way towards it. Anthony follows me and gently shuts the door behind us. The guy just walks over to his couch as starts to look through his jacket, his back to Anthony. I notice the drapes are shut, which means nobody is gonna see. Anthony opens the pizza box slowly and pulls out his gun, silently putting the pizza box on the floor. I walk over to him and stand next to him. He leans towards me and whispers softly in my ear.

"Shoot them a couple of times, mainly in the chest at the heart. Kills them outright, easy enough to hit and leaves enough of a body."

I look up at him and he smiles, our faces are barely an inch apart. I smile back, suddenly I feel less nervous and more intrigued and I turn back to face the mark. Glenwood finally pulls his wallet from his jacket and starts to fumble around with money. Anthony slowly raises the gun and his finger slides around the trigger. I watch, fascinated.

"Al sent me. He just wants you to know that your debts are cleared."

Glenwood spins around quickly and he clocks the gun and his eyes go wide, staring quickly at Anthony and then to me and then back to the gun. His mouth slides open in shock and a small, strangled sound comes from his mouth as he realises what is going to happen. I notice a small wet patch on his groin and tears well up in his eyes. Anthony pulls the trigger twice, one bullet hits him in the chest at the heart and another slightly lower just above the stomach. The guy's body violently jerks a few times and small sprays of blood spurt as he falls backwards in a heap. Anthony takes hold of my hand and walks me over to the still, unmoving body. We stop at the side, well away from any blood so our prints don't get caught in it. I look at dead man on the floor and I can't get over that a moment ago he was moving and breathing and now he's dead on the floor. His eyes are screwed tightly shut and the traces of tears are still visible on his cheeks. I stare in fascination at him and suddenly I feel an odd mixture of horror and elation. I feel sick, I've just watched a man get shot and I did nothing to stop it and at the same time I want to shoot him myself, just tosee what it's like. Anthony pulls out his cell and makes a phone call to someone, probably to let them know it's done. I just carry on looking at Glenwood, his blood is very red. It would make a beautiful contrast against some crisp white canvas.

"Jane, let's go. Clean up will be here soon. We have to go."

He stamps on the pizza box and crumples it and hides it under his coat. He's puts his gun in an inner pocket and opens the door slightly, and motions at me to come. I walk over to him and slide through the gap, taking one last look as I leave before walking to the elevator and I don't look back. We get back in the elevator and hit the ground floor. White Rabbit is back in my head and I stare at the dull grey roof. We reach the ground floor and we leave the elevator together, nobody saw us come in, nobody sees us go out and as I walk into the cool evening air and I feel completely, overwhelmingly alive.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hotel Yorba is by the White Stripes and belongs to them and XL. You know the drill on this.**

"So, that was kinda intense."

It's the first time Jane's spoken sincewe've been driving. She's taken off that stupid hat and the big gold hoops havebeen thrown into the glove box, they've turned the bottom piercing in herearlobes a slight green colour. She pushes her usual small silver hoops through her ears and looks at me, one eyebrow raised, before she turns away again. She pulls out a mirror from the glove box, it's now full of her stuff, and paints her lips with a bright red lipstick that she's also found there. I steal a  
couple of glances at her as she does this and watch as she slowly turns from Sandi to Jane.

"Maybe. I dunno, I've been doing this for a long time. Itwas just another job, an easy hit too. You'll appreciate those. Once you've hada tough kill, the easy ones are a dream. So, whaddya think? Could you do it?"

She pulls the band from her hair and shakes it out. Black, silky strands blur in front of her face and settle messily below her jaw.

"I think so. I mean when you shot him at first I thought I was gonna hurl and runout the place. But afterwards I really wanted to do it myself. I wanted to feelthe gun in my hand and shoot him just to see what it was like. Like you said before though, there's only one way to prove it and I guess I'll have to try it to know. If I screw up we'll know, I'll try not to. Can't make any promisesthough so be nice if I embarrass us both"

She says all this with an easy 'I don't care, I'm fine with it' air to her voice but I can sense the uneasiness behind it. Most of the time she's quite sure of herself, living life like she has makes a person tough, you can't afford to be soft. Every so often though something slips into her speech, a horrible self loathing tone and I don't know what causes it or for how long she's been beating herself up for. When we train if she doesn't get something right straight off she mutters 'useless, useless,  
useless' and I guess something happened long ago. I can only reassure her, however much good that does.

"You won't. You did really good back there, getting the information from those guys and giving us a way into the building. That takes some quick thinking and brains, which is an asset if you're gonna do this job. The guys who think they just need to show up are those who end up dead or in jail pretty quick. Anyway, I called Al before and let him know that we're done and as a thank you for your help he says you can pick out some weapons. It's always better to use your own guns if you can, Jane. They're like cars, sure you can use any but you get to know your own model and how to get the most from it. If you ever need to do a quick job then any gun will do but for bigger stuff use your own. We're going to a Russian guy who has an underground gun store, he knows we're on our way. It's easy to get a gun in this city sweetheart, you just have to know where to look. When you have one on you make sure there's no way anyone can guess either, I don't know about Maryland but the cops don't take too kindly to gun possession here, so don't spread it around that you've got one."

"That ruins my next art project, damn it. I was gonna make it a cross spectrum of all artistic fields and it was gonna depict me shooting people in the head in paint, sculpture and photography. It was to be called 'Janey's got her gun, bitches' and woulda got me a genius grant. But you've ruined all that for me now with your logic and knowledge of those stupid petty gun laws so I guess it's back to plain old, run of the mill secret homicide."

"I'm sorry I ruined your plans to take the art world by storm. I'm sure it would have ranked alongside other monuments to _artistic_ expression like that woman's unmade _bed_ and that guy who dunked a _crucifix_ in piss."

She raises her eyebrows and points out the front window.

"Hey look at that guy outside who has this expression on his face that suggests he's gonna keel over at any moment due to his complete lack of understanding of art or artistic eye's gonna bulge so much it'll fall out his head. Oh, never mind, it's your reflection."

Jane sinks back into her seat and smirks as I feign a look of outrage. Our eyes meet for a second and she holds my look before quickly poking her tongue out at me. I stare for a couple of seconds, entranced, before I look back at the road so I don't crash the car. That and so she doesn't think I'm a creep.

"Anthony, can I ask you a question about your job? Do you just work for Al and his gang or have you got lots of employers? I should know so I know where to start to find work later on, you know if I'm okay at this. I figured there must be tons of people who want to off someone else in the city, but I've seen enough films and television to know what happens when gang wars go bad."

"I work for whoever pays me. I've known Al since we were kids, he was the one who introduced me to this so I've always done work for him. But I do work for others too. Any nationality or gang right down to Texan business men who want to off a business partner, in other words any asshole who'll pay. Notreally so much for Eastern Europeans though, they have their own guys. Another word to the wise, whoever employs you show 'em respect, especially if you end up working for Russians. I've seen the bodies those guys leave behind, it ain't pretty. Generally though if you're not allied to a particular gang they don't tell you anything of importance so you can work for who you like. It's good to know who your target is though. If you do a hit on a gang member then make sure you don't go and work for his crew for a while after."

She nods and taps her fingers on her knees before she looks in distaste at the pink monstrosity she's wearing. It served it's purpose though, if anything gets out they'll be looking for a Mafia Princess type in pink velvet. Jane's good, much better than she thinks she is. Speaking of which I lean under the seat and feel for the  
black jacket I've brought her. It's unlikely anyone will be looking yet but it's better for her to look less conspicuous. I pass it over to her and she slips it on over the pink one, it's cold in the evenings and even in the car the wind bites. As I drive through the streets I notice the shop signs start to turn from English to Russian, coming down here it's almost like moving country. Old women in head scarves that knot under the chin carrying grocery bags mix with young men in sportswear shouting into cell phones, their arms slung round their tall, willowy girlfriends. At the end of the street I see the Russian hardware store on the corner, around that corner there should be an alleyway that leads to the gun store. I pull up and park outside a butcher shop.

"Place is round the corner. Guy's called Bogdan, he'll meet us there."

We get out the car and make our way along the street and the conversations being conducted in Russian and Polish and whatever else takes me briefly back to my neighbourhood as a kid, only then it was old people talking to each other in rapid Italian and as I grew up I wasn't fluent but I got the gist of what people we're saying about me as I passed by them whenever I came back home for the holidays from military school. Apart from the insults though, I learnt those pretty quickly. As we turn the corner and I'm about to move towards the alley when a couple about my age storm by bickering followed slowly by a red haired teenage girl who is chattering into a cell phone. Jane moves out the way quickly so they don't crash into her and we both turn to watch them walk down the street without offering an apology. The woman peers at a map and speaks loudly to her husband, who has gone red with rage.

"I told you that we should have got a cab to her dorm but noooooooooo, you had to drag us onto the subway and insisted that you could get us there and save us the cab fare. Well where are we now, Jake? Because this is nowhere near Daria's dorms. In fact, I don't even know if we're in the right borough because you just kept hopping on and off the subway and now we're lost."

"Damnit Helen, if you'd have listened to me before we would have been going the right way but you had to do things your way as usual and make us get off at that station but nobody listens to Jakey do they?"

"The way you were taking us was back to the hotel. Honestly, your daughter will think we don't want to see her at this rate because you're taking us on a city wide tour.

"Katie, this trip is a nightmare. I mean so many stores to choose from and I haven't been to one. All we've done is go on the subway and now we have to go and spend the evening with my sister...I know. And I can't shop tomorrow because we have to go and sightsee. I mean, why bother when I've seen everything here in the movies anyway?"

Jane tuts loudly as the girl idles by and she looks up and gives Jane a once over before rolling her eyes and carrying on. Jane looks at me, one eyebrow raised at the nerve of the girl and we turn to walk into the alley, I quickly check the street for any cops. At the back of one of the buildings there is a dull grey metal door with a grille at eye level. We make our way over and I knock on the door once, the fucking noise seems to echo loudly and Jane quickly looks towards the alley opening. The grille slides open and in the orange light from inside the building two brown eyes stare at me.

"Hey, we were sent here by Al Caruso. Anthony and Jane, he said you knew."

The grille slides shut and the door opens to reveal a blond guy about my age dressed all in black. He steps aside to let us in and nods at us to go down the stairs. I grip onto the rail, God knows what's on these stairs and the sole swinging light bulb doesn't do much. As I reach the bottom of the stairs I make a left turn into what was once probably basement storage but now has a few rows of plywood tables ranged along the room with guns laid out on them along with some knives and knuckledusters. On the walls there are rifles and machine guns hung up, as well as a selection of bullet proof vests and some suppressors. The only other person in the store is a tall dark haired Eastern European looking guy, probably three or four years older than Jane, examining a semi automatic. He looks up as we enter and nods curtly towards me and I notice as his glance shifts towards Jane a smile briefly forms before he looks back to me and gives a more respectful nod. I look round to see her smile back before looking down and I feel a stab of jealousy. Bogdan moves in front of us and as we follow him over to the counter I move aside to let Jane walk in front. As we near the counter I see Jane look to the side and cast a glance at him and I fight down the urge to walk over and slam his head into the plywood. He doesn't turn round though and keeps his attention firmly on the gun. We reach the counter and I'm about to speak when the owner calls over to the other guy.

"Stanislav, my apologies but I would appreciate it if you would allow me to deal with these customers privately."

"Of course, I was just looking anyway. I will leave you to your conversation, sir, miss."

He puts the gun down and gets the hell out of there as fast as he can go without calls out a bye which he doesn't respond to and a look of confusion flits across her face. We wait in silence until we hear the groan of the door as it opens followed by the heavy bang as it shuts.

"I apologise if this seems excessive, however Mr Caruso insisted that this conversation be a private one. My name is Bogdan Golovin and if Mr Caruso is correct then you are Mr DeMartino and Miss Lane and you are here to purchase weapons for the young lady. So firstly Miss Lane, have you ever owned or used a gun before?"

"No, um, well I've held one of Anthony's and aimed it but I've never fired any rounds."

"Okay, and what are you planning to use the weapons for?"

Her eyes widen and she shoots me a confused, panicky look, not quite knowing what to say. He sees her confusion and he leans towards her slightly.

"Miss Lane, this is an illegal weapons store and if you had by some chance managed to obtain a permit from the police you would not be buying your weapons from me. I need to know because you could be here to purchase a weapon so you can do anything from armed robberies to illegal game hunting and you will need the right gun. Also if I know I can offer suggestions should you make a return visit."

He has a point and he's right. We're all in over our heads in shit here and he'd be in bigger shit than us if the authorities heard about this. I can see Jane coming to the same conclusion and her back stiffens and she leans towards him.

"I need a long range and a short range gun for um, you know, shooting people. Just one or two of each at the moment, maybe like uh, a sniper and two handguns. I dunno. Oh and bullets."

"I see what you mean. I'm sure your friend here can guide you, however I would suggest a standard issue sniper for your long range weapon, one with a good scope to assist you while you are still a novice, maybe a semi automatic or a larger revolver. We sell a lot of Uzis too, for drive by shootings, if that is ever going to be an option. The rifles are on the back wall, the middle row is probably best suitable handguns."

He moves off and we wander over towards the middle row, along which lay a mixture of revolvers and pistols. Jane picks up the nearest pistol and immediately aims at the wall and moves around, as if she's about about perform a hold up in a bank. From the counter I see Bogdan watch her in amusement as she waves it about for a while before she looks at me and shrugs.

"Okay, I got that out my system and you're gonna have to help me. What's good here?"

"Well, I prefer a revolver. Cartridges stay in the cylinder making it harder to trace the bullets whereas your semi automatic cartridges get everywhere and revolvers don't malfunction as much. Then again you can use suppressors with the semi automatics and you get quicker reload. You'll know what you prefer when you've used both. Get one of each. Al's paying. Just try them and see what feels right."

She moves off and I watch as she picks up the weapons and not for the first time I wonder what her family would say if they could see her now or if they'd known what's she's had to do. I'd love to know if any of them have got their asses back home long enough to realise she's gone and probably won't be going back either. I wonder if they feel any guilt about leaving her because I feel fucking guilty knowing that I'm inducting her into a life of crime, this awful dirty work. Then again I can't do much else, better this than what she was doing, at least this gives her some control and safety whereas sex work may be the oldest profession but it's probably the most dangerous too. Still terrible for her though, when in another life she'd be at an art college doing what she wants to do. I'd always thought I'd teach history one day and look at me now, a middle aged man who probably has a few years left of this business. I just hope I have enough to retire on, those debts took a long time to pay off and if I don't well there's always vacant openings in this line of work. Her voice stirs me from my thoughts.

"I like these. I'll have these. Let's go try snipers."

She has a 9mm Baretta 92 and .44 magnum with a short barrel. Out of nowhere Bogdan appears and takes them off her and goes back behind the counter. She moves to the back of the shop and I take down a couple of rifles that she's probably be able to use and raise the first one to my eye, checking the weight and the telescopic sight. I pass it to her and then check the other one.

"Most important thing with these is the sights. Look at them both and decide which one you find clearer. That's the one to pick."

I place the other one against the wall and pull out a cigarette. The air smells of smoke anyway so I guess he ain't bothered if I light up. I light one up and I inhale deeply, and stare at the grimy walls as grey smoke rushes in front of me. Jane switches between the two rifles, her tongue pokes out the side of her mouth slightly in concentration as she lines each up to her eye before she passes the one she's holding to me and puts the other back on the wall. We walk over the counter and Bogdan reappears and slides two plastic bags towards us, the guns now hidden in shoe boxes. He takes the rifle from Jane and carefully slides it into a large box labelled 'self assembly lamp stand' before sealing it up. Clever move. Anyone walks by and it just looks like we've been out shopping for the day. He hands me the rifle and Jane the bags and leads us back through the store and back up the stairs. As we reach the top he slides the grille open and looks outside before turning back to us and speaks in a whisper.

"Mr Caruso will be pleased when I tell him the bill will be quite small. I think he expected to pay quite a lot."

"You know, I'm gonna have to have words with him, he makes me sound like I can't control myself."

"I can see that is not true. Well thank you, Mr DeMartino, Miss Lane. I hope that I shall serve you again in the future."

We exchange our thanks and he opens the door and looks out before stepping aside to let us go through. As the door shuts behind us I look around before I nod at Jane to go out the alley first. She casually walks away and I wait until she's on the street before I follow her out, making sure I can't see anything suspicious before I move. I catch up to her as she reaches the car and I open the trunk, sliding the boxed rifle in first before she places the bags at either side. We get in and move off, I don't think I'll properly rest until we're in the house though and I'm careful to drive safely and not draw attention to us, sounds simple but I've known plenty of people get too cocky and end up being pulled over by the cops for running a light and then be searched. I catch her looking at me.

"What?"

"I thought I'd made a friend in there, or maybe I may have been able to make another friend. Until he hauled his ass outta there so quick he feet barely touched the floor. I liked the look of him too."

"Oh. Well perhaps it just wasn't meant to be."

"I thought he liked the look of me too. Not even in a sexual way, more like when you meet someone and you just know 'I'm gonna like you.' I should make more friends, I don't wanna monopolise all your time and I thought that was my chance. Guess not though."

Oh Jesus, it would be so easy to let her assume the guy's a dick and tell her that if she's the only person I ever speak to again I'll die a happy man. But she needs  
friends of her own age and she needs to feel good about herself so I let her know the truth. Why make her miserable so I can be happy?

"Jane, you are a very pretty young woman and I know with everything you've been through you probably don't wanna hear this but when he saw you his first thought woulda been 'hello nurse.' But then he saw me and generally young women are either the daughters or mistresses of older men. Or maybe I was guarding you for your Pa or someone. Either way some hoodlum can't just strike up a conversation with those kinda women and so he left before something went down. It was nothing to do with you."

She out the window and I can't see her expression. When she looks back at me her face is neutral, as if nothing has ever fazed her and nothing ever will.

"If you say so. When can I use my stuff?"

"Not now. I'm hungry and we haven't eaten since lunch. Besides, I have to find a good place for us to train and get some stuff too. I'll let you know when I'm  
ready."

She pouts and rolls her eyes, her look suggests she doesn't think much that I've not already got all this ready for her and switches on the radio. It's this new shit again and that Hotel Yorba song this station plays every seven songs is on and she starts to sing along. I'm about to tell her that if she's gonna sing about hotels then make it Hotel California but I know the kind of arguments that normally leads to. I lean back against the seat as we drive through the stop start of the traffic and I start to zone out like I normally do when I drive and all I hear is Jane and the radio. And as the song starts to seep into my brain I find to my surprise I start to sing along too.

_Well its one two three four take the elevator __At the Hotel Yorba  
I'll be glad to see you later  
All they got inside is vacancy_


	8. Chapter 8

The guns are laid out on my bed, the long sniper in the middle with the revolver to the left and the semi automatic to the right, glinting dully in the sunlight that comes through the gap in the curtains. I take them out every so often just so I can look at them and try and get my brain to compute that they are mine. The other day I made my room into a concept art piece with my weapons as the focal point and everything else I own grouped around them, my stuff from Lawndale and the street on the left and my life since Anthony took me in on the right. I had the full on art critic voice in my head narrating the symbolism of prominence of the guns as a violent rebirth from my former life as neglected runaway hooker into a focused, structured trainee hitwoman to the imaginaryhordes of admirers of my troubled genius. Of course when I stepped back it looked like the biggest pile of shit you can imagine and I kicked everything over so that crap went everywhere, which to be honest is more symbolic of me, nothing but complete fucking chaos. I pick up the semi automatic, which I always seem to go for first, and aim at myself in the mirror as the dust from the sunlight dances around me. I have the hands on the handle and my right index finger has curled itself around the trigger. I aim to look intimidating, or even serious, but I seem to stick the tip of my tongue out in concentration and so I just look like a ten year old playing dress up. I might even get better at this if Anthony ever got his ass into gear and took me out practising, but he just shuts me down every time I ask so that I just end up seething with frustration at him and . Not that he gives a shit, he just gives me 'you kids nowadays, you can't wait for anything anymore' speech and I just imagine what he would look like on fire. I hear a knock on the door and before I even answer he walks in with a pile of clothes. I watch as his eyes drift from me holding the semi automatic to the other weapons on the bed and a smirk forms on his face. Asshole.

"Thanks for waiting for an answer. I coulda been in my underwear for all you know. Then you woulda been known forever as a pervert and I would have been duty bound to inform everyone of that fact, up to including old Mrs Wheeler who would never bake stuff for you again and that bitch at the diner who keeps hinting that you two should get together. She still hates me by the way. Seriously, every time I go to that place she makes loud references to there being lots of whores around."

"Well, it's a good things you had clothes on so my current faultless reputation remains intact and I will still receive my supply of baked goods twice a week. And I'll speak to Lorraine about her attitude towards you. I don't want her calling you things like that."

"You don't have to, it's not like she's lying."

"You're not a whore Jane."

"Oh I am. I took money for sex and didn't discriminate. I don't think you can spin that any other way. Besides, it's my past, I can deal with it and her, I've had worse. Let her say what she wants. I'll put it down to jealousy that we're better friends than you two are."

He looks at me for a long moment, as if he wants to say something but doesn't know how to say the words. He has a very intense look, I try and match it but sometimes I find I can't and I have to look away. It's like he's looked at me, seen everything and is passing judgement in his head and I can't even begin to try and think what he thinks of me. I crack and look away first and take the clothes from his hands. As I start to put the clothes into drawers I decide I may as well broach the subject of training again. He's just caught me holding up my own reflection and it's been what, nearly a month? Surely he has the stuff he needs now. I sit on the bed and lean back casually, resting myself on both my palms in what I hope comes across as a relaxed, non confrontational stance. Normally I ask him in the car and he's an angry driver as it is. Maybe this will be better.

"So, you caught me. I confess that I regularly get these babies out and perform short, dramatic pieces where I shoot down bad guys, passers by and anyone I don't like all the time uttering witty one liners. I also treat them with respect, if you care to inspect them you will see they are very clean, and I am willing and I've been patiently waiting for my chance to use them. So maybe we could go somewhere quiet, you could do what you have to do and I could try them out and see if I'm any good. How about it?"

I smile at him, hoping that the calmness of the room and the nicer request will work. Normally I work along the lines of 'yo, I'm bored. When are you gonna take me out to shoot stuff?' and that never works so maybe this will. I don't know why he's so reluctant or if he's having second thoughts because he won't tell me. Anthony moves over to look out the window and I twist myself around to watch him as he's doing God knows what in his head. I don't like that I can't see his face. He always does this, turns away so I can't guess what he's thinking, which is ridiculous as he always tells me that I need to look at people to try and judge what they're gonna do. How I'm supposed to judge the back of his head I have no idea and I want to make him look at me. The stillness in the room is unbearable. In the light the grey in his hair looks almost white.

"Not today sweetheart. I don't have everything ready yet."

A small noise of frustration escapes from my mouth as I grip the bedsheets so tightly I think I'm gonna tear the fabric. Whatever has been held back is gonna come rushing out. What is the fucking point? I push myself off the bed and I get on my hands and knees before I roughly pull the storage boxes from underneath and then onto the bed. The guns are roughly thrown back into the boxes, all thoughts of careful handling are gone, and I start hunt around for bags, viscously kicking stuff out of my way. I can't look at him, fucking asshole and I find two plastic bags next to the wardrobe that I throw the two shoe boxes that hold my guns into them.

"There. You can take those back to Bogdan, tell them this was all a huge mistake and Al can have his money back."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You heard. You clearly aren't gonna show me the ropes and to be honest I'm not really the NRA type so they're useless to me. I don't know whether you think I'm not capable, or I'm too stupid or just a no good piece of shit but whatever it is you've been stalling for weeks and I'm officially at the end of my rope here. So take them back and we can forget this whole thing ever happened and normal service can resume. I still don't see how fucking hard it is to get some targets ready or whatever you need to do so there must be something more to it."

I glance at him and he's leant against the wall, one eyebrow raised and arms folded. The bastard has a look of amused confusion on his face and I really want to throw something at his head just to wipe off that smile. I feel my anger flash again and I throw the bags on the floor before I sit on the edge of the blanket and bite my lip as I cross my arms and legs. Anthony moves from the wall and stands next to me. I turn my head away from him and I hear him sigh.

"Fine. Have your little tantrum, stamp you feet, behave like a child and when you decide to calm down we'll talk like adults."

Dick move Anthony. The rage just overwhelms me and I let it seep into every part of myself. I propel myself upwards and in rageI just throw whatever I can find on  
the floor. Make up, earrings, water bottles and bits of paper fall to the floor with varying thuds and in some perverse way I start to enjoy myself, knowing that this will set him on edge like nothing else. He once went nuts when one the guys he goes to Al's bar with left a candy wrapper on the side instead of putting it in the trash. I hear his breathing get heavy and rapid and I look up at him, this time I'm the one with the smirk. He has that look on his face again, the same one he had when I kinda lost it in the park back when he told me what he did for a living. I wasn't scared of that look them. Knowing what I do now, I am. But still I don't stop, the anger makes me feel invincible and I stride up to him and get right in his face. I'm gonna make him tell me what the hell it is that's so wrong with me. I feel his breath on my forehead as I told my head up and as we look at each other I find I don't even want to know. I just want to piss him off. His eye has started to bulge slightly. It just encourages me more as I lean in closer and whisper to him.

"Fuck YOU."

We hold the gaze for a a while and I'm acutely aware of how stupid I am to have let It get this far. Very clever Jane, complain that he isn't showing faith in you and then go and antagonise him some more. Oh well, I'm in it now and I'm determined not to be the one who breaks it this time. We've entered into some sort of battle of wills and my fingers dig into my hips, willing myself to hold on. Suddenly, to my surprise I gotta say, he turns away and steps back and I feel the small exhilaration of victory. Anthony turns away from me and throws the bedroom door open and I watch him go. He hesitates as leaves, the door halfway shut.

"You think you _know _everything. Well, you know _jack_ shit, Jane."

The door shuts and I don't move as I hear him stomp downstairs followed by the heavy creaking of the front door as it's opened and slammed shut. And he says I have a temper. As I hear the car door and the rev of the engine I finally seem to summon the will to move as I run to the window and watch as he reverses out the drive and screeches off.

Oh. Fuck.

I spent the rest of the morning cleaning up the mess I made in my room and then started to clean the rest of the house as some sort of penance. On reflection pissing off the guy who has given me house room, fed me and not asked for anything in return was a bad idea. You think I'd know not to piss people off, to be honest it was a surprise when he didn't hit me. Not that he's the type that would but I'm used to it. A small bag of my things is next to the door in case he tells to get out when he returns and argument or no argument I ate the rest of last night's pasta. Who the hell knows if I'll get a good meal any time soon. Now the anger's gone I'm not surprised he hasn't trained my useless backside. Who would? I've also called him a few times on his cell, he didn't answer, and I left him a couple of voicemails, which he hasn't responded to. That said he can't use the damn thing properly yet. He looks continually surprised every time it rings and I haven't even bothered to try to show him how to text, the concept is beyond him. So its been five hours since he walked out and I don't know where he is or when he's coming back. I rummage through my pockets and pull out the fifty dollars I have in there. If I leave him this, and the money he insisted I take for my part in that hit then I have paid him back and maybe I should write a thank you note and leave. The coward's way out but I don't think I could stand him telling me to go, at least this is on my terms. I look around for a pen, which seem to have magically disappeared, and some paper when the phone rings. I wasn't expecting that and a little tremor of shock runs through me before I answer the fucking thing.

"Hello?"

"I'm at Molly's Diner. Come and meet me now."

That's him. Thank God.

"Okay," I keep my voice light and airy "Do I get some key lime too?"

He replies to this with the dialling tone. So, still in his bad books. I shift my ass pretty quick out the door and I try and maintain a steady walk to the diner. The tone in his voice has unnerved the crap outta me, that flat, hollow voice. I see now why he's lasted so long, he's damn good at this. I'm shitting a brick and all we've had is a little argument. If he was coming for me to put a bullet in my head, yeesh. I walk along in a daze trying to figure out and at what point it all went to hell. I look down at the pavement and it hits me that the weather's been getting nicer recently, if I have to go back to turning tricks least I won't freeze my ass off doing it like last time. Really don't want to though, if there's a next time it probably won't end as well.

"I know you."

I look up from the grimy, gum splattered pavement and oh good, it's God Boy. Timmy whatshisname, huge, possessed grin and all. I don't know what it is about this guy but he just gives me the creeps. He's clutching at his Bible and he gives me what I suppose he thinks is a concerned, caring look but actually looks like he's planning to drug me and sell my organs on the black market.

"You really don't."

"Oh I do. You're the young lady with the older gentleman that time, near that awful bar. Terrible things occur there and I sensed then that you were a lost soul looking for support and guidance and I thought 'Timothy, if you ever see that girl again you're going to help her as the Lord Jesus Christ would want you to do.' I  
believe he wants me to help you, to turn you away from the path of darkness and despair and towards the light and his love."

"I'm okay. I can look after myself. Thanks for the offer but I don't need yours, or Jesus', help. I help myself."

"And is what you do to help yourself worth it? Does it offer you the support that will help you through the bad times? Does it make you feel safe and secure during the long nights you think will never end? Is It enough?"

I stare at God Boy but it's not him I'm thinking about. I think about his questions and Anthony and I decide in that moment that he does and it's enough. By the time I drift back to reality the idiot in front of me has taken my silence as agreement and he presses a piece of paper with an address somewhere uptown and his name and phone number on it into my hand . He gives me that creepy grin and I pull away as he starts to squeeze my hand tightly.

"Think about it, and if you ever need to talk then either drop by the centre or call me with any questions you might have. I'll always be here to offer God's guidance and love. There's more than one path to take in life. There's always another way, Jane."

I roll my eyes and walk away quickly in case he decides to start lecturing me again. I hope he hasn't held me up too long and I jog the rest of the way to the diner to make up for any lost time. I reach the place, all brightly lit in baby blues and hot pinks and I see Anthony sipping on a cup of coffee in a booth by the window. I reach the stop of the steps and open the door of the place and then it hits me. How did he know my name? Who knows, I have bigger stuff to worry about here. Anthony has his back to me so I slip into the booth across from him wait for him to look up from his paper. I see Lorraine scowl at me from behind the counter and I smile brightly at her. Never fails to piss her off. I turn my attention back to the table and notice he's looked up and the ghost of smile appears before he slips back into neutral. Lorraine makes her way over to us, her bizarre hair now toned down to a slightly more recognisable shade of red however her skin tone has been cranked up to some luminous shade of orange. She reaches the table and glares at me with a look of contempt on her face. Anthony nods towards her and I see her fingers  
tighten on her pencil.

"Lorraine has something to say to you."

She takes a deep breath and her bursty chest strains against the flimsy blue fabric of her uniform. Maybe that's her secret. I look at her and she's looking at the ceiling.

"I have never meant to imply that you are a person of loose morals and I am sorry if anything I have ever said has given you the impression that this is my opinion of you. I apologise for any upset I may have caused you."

She sounds like she's reading from an autocue badly, she doesn't believe a word of what she just said. I see Anthony's reflection in the window. His lips are pressed together and I notice a repressed laugh go through him as he shakes so slightly only I could see it. I swallow my own laugh and smile radiantly at her, as if I gave a shit what she thinks of me anyway.

"That's okay, I understand how hard it must be for you to have had to apologise and that I hope that after all this that we can still be friends. Wouldn't that be nice?"

My voice drips with sarcasm and she turns on her heels on stomps off back to behind the counter. Anthony stands up and motions at me to go and stand at the door. He goes over to Lorraine and says something to her in a low voice that I can't hear and she just glares at me with pure hatred. He walks over and pushes his way out the door and walks quickly into the street. I do a little jog to catch up and I decide to stay a couple of steps behind him. We walk in silence through the busy streets and we eventually end up at the car. I'm not sure where we are and I get in quickly just in case he drives off. We just sit there, him starring out the window at some guys playing basketball and me looking at the rosary beads he has hanging from the mirror. I can't take much more of this tension. My chest feels like it's gonna burst.

"Yo, listen I'm sorry about before. I shouldn't have thrown my stuff around and got in your face like that. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been so pissy about it."

"It's fine."

"No, really it's not. I just don't get why you offered to train me to do your job and I went on a hit with you and got weapons and the rest and then you just stalled and it's like you don't think I can do it or that I'm an idiot and you won't tell me anything. Do you want me to do something else. Do you want me gone and this is some crazy way of showing it? Just tell me cos the uncertainty is driving me nuts. That said, I was a bitch to you even though you've done so much for me and I really I'm sorry. If you want me to go I got my stuff ready."

He looks at me as if I've just told him that I'm due to give birth to a squid.

"Go? Jesus, I can't believe you thought I was gonna kick you out. I would never do that to you. We had an argument, you live with someone it happens sooner or  
later."

"Yeah, well most people would have thrown me out long ago. And we haven't exactly been talking much these past couple of weeks."

He looks away from me and out the window again and taps his fingers on the steering wheel. Across the street the basketball players seem to be having a disagreement over whatever the hell basketball entails and one guy has starts to kick the ball around the court that makes my little episode earlier look calm and  
collected, as some other guy runs around after him like some panicked sheep. Fuck's sake man, get a grip.

"You remember back when I introduced you to Al? He mentioned the last person I trained back in 89. His name was Lewis Taylor. I hated that arrogant little prick but much as it pains me to say it he was good at his job. He knew the ropes, what to do, what to say, how to get in and out the place without anyone ever knowing he was there. He was good. Cops found him in a bag at the docks two weeks ago. Whoever got him did stuff I ain't even gonna tell you to him, slit his throat, hacked him to bits and left him to rot."

The air seems to have gone from the car and my mind goes blank. I have no idea what to say. What do you say to that? Sorry for your loss doesn't even begin to cover it and yet I can't just not do nothing. There's such an emptiness to his voice and I wonder how I never noticed. I reach out run my hand up and down the top of his arm, it's the only thing that I can think to do.

"They tortured him, killed him and then threw him out. This ain't new to me, its happened to quite a lot of people I've known but I trained this guy, he was just like you are now and I taught him what I knew and now he's dead. He was an asshole like you wouldn't believe and I've been walking round not knowing what to do with myself. And then I thought if this is what I'm like with Lewis who I didn't even like that much what the hell would it be like if it was you they found? I don't think I can do it Jane. Not now."

I lean in closer to him and slip my arm through his and lean my head against him.

"You shoulda told me. I don't know what help I woulda been but still. Listen, what happened to him is nothing to do with you. He knew what he was doing and he knew the risks. It sounds harsh but you know people die in road accidents all the time and it's nothing to do with person who taught them to drive. What happened  
to Lewis is just horrific and nobody deserves to go that way but it was his choice to live that life and it's mine to live it too. What else am I gonna do? You can try and convince me otherwise but there's only two ways for me to make money and I'd rather do this than the other one. If it wasn't for you offering me this choice then I'd probably be either dead or out of my mind on crack somewhere so you don't need to be beat yourself up about me. Besides, look how long you've lasted, maybe I'll last that long too and if I don't that's my choice too."

We catch each other's eye I realise there's so much I don't know about him. The only person I have in the world and yet I have no idea who he is. Lewis is just one of many who has come and gone in his life and who knows I could be one of them too. I don't care, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. To break the tension I pull a face at him and he smiles, creases appearing around his eyes. I sit back up and I lean back in my seat and start to circle patterns on the window with my fingers. Inexplicably Trent flashes into my mind and I force that thought away. He's not dead, wherever he is he's not in a ditch or a shallow grave. He's...somewhere. I hear Anthony clear his throat.

"I have some stuff in the back. We'll pick your weapons up and we can go practice if it stops you bugging me. How about it?"

I look up and see my pale, watery reflection staring back at me as a small red grin forms on Window Jane's face. Enough talk, let's go.


	9. Chapter 9

He's on my mind. He's on my mind all the time recently, ever since I found out he died. The light of the day begins to slowly fade out, as if someone is dimming a switch. Now is the best time to train, not too early so that the world is walking by, not so late that you can't see a fucking thing. That's the trick to training in this city, finding the right time and the right place. I'm taking Jane to a place I know uptown, somewhere a few gunshots won't be much a problem. In fact the noise won't be the issue, I brought a couple of suppressors which should cover us in that respect. The problem is people, mainly cops and the fine upstanding citizens of this world who are distrustful of anything not normal and always happy to disrupt that aspect of life they'd rather not exist. The beauty of this place, beyond the fact it's an old deserted warehouse which even drug dealers draw the line at for being too shabby, is that the only interruptions come from bums and hookers. And unlike drug dealers, hoodlums and cops, bumsand hookers are easy and cheap to pay off. Lewis flashes into my brain again, his image goes around in my head and I don't how to stop him. I try and not letanything show, any grief or distress. Gotta stay calm for Jane, if she gets spooked then there's no way I can show her the ropes. I can't tell her how he died, how they tore his skin off strip by strip, how he was burnt all over, how one of his eyes was missing. It shocks me how much his death has hit me cos' I ain't seen him in seven years. The last words I ever spoke to him were 'go fuck yourself, Lewis.' He'd come around begging for money like he usually did, promising as always to pay it back then disappearing again. We all have our demons in this job. Lewis used to coke himself up every night into a foaming at the mouth, venomous asshole who would beat whichever 'moll' that was stupid or desperate enough to put up with him. My demons were drink and poker. Especially poker. Jesus, I spent most of the eighties paying off the debts I had racked up in the the time I took Lewis on for training I just about had my house left. The fancy suits were gone, the expensive watches and handmade Italian crafted furniture was gone. She was gone. And Jane wonders why I woulda given anything to stop her from living this life. But she wants to and I can'tmake her reconsider.

I glance across to her and I see her sketch something on a bit of paper. Girl's pretty good, gotta give her that. She leaves little drawings all round the house. Of her as some gun toting Bonnie Parker figure. Of me as Dirty Harry. Of Mrs Wheeler's cat shitting in my back yard. The tip of her tongue peeks between her red lips, her eyes narrowed in concentration. She has beautiful skin, too soft and pretty to be torn from her. Those eyes are too blue to be ripped out. I'm going to hell for this. She catches me looking and shoves the pencil and paper into her coat, as if I'm gonna demand to see what's on the paper. She's like a cat sometimes. She watches through narrowed eyes, aloof but allows herself to be docile and indulged until she has enough. Then you feel her claws before she slinks away. Jane blows a strand of hair from her face and I see her fingers grip round the pencil as she stares round. We're almost there and like I thought the only people round are bums looking for a quiet place to shoot up and hookers looking to do the same thing before hitting the streets for a night's work. If we're lucky we won't be bothered, if we're not then we can just pretend I'm into some weird shit and I've hired Jane for the night.

"I know her."

Jane's stirs in her seat and points at some girl at the side of the road. She's older than Jane, much older, with lank blonde hair and a pale pink mini dress that once woulda been for a night out on the town but has clearly seen better days. She looks unsteady on her feet and a little white coat swings in her hand. I doubt she knows what day of the week it is by now.

"She's called Rosie. I met her not long before I met you, she kinda looked out for me when I was finding my way round. Told me who to avoid and where I could make the most money and I stood lookout for her a few times. She's on crack, that's why she's thirty two but looks fifty. She also told me who gets the good stuff. You ever want the name of a dealer of some high quality narcotics she's the one to ask. I didn't think I'd ever see her again. To be honest I'm surprised she isn't dead. It can only be a matter of time before something gets her."

"Life's cruel Jane. You gotta make the best of the hand you've been dealt."

"I know, I know. It's just..."

We swing off into the wasteland near the warehouse and she looks back again at Rosie until the high, weather beaten wooden fence hides us from the road. After a couple of minutes drive we pull up outside and I notice that a few more of the windows have been put through since I last was here and the whole place looks even shittier than normal. She's eyeing the place and doesn't look too impressed so I have to tap her on the shoulder to get her attention.

"Wait here a second. I'm gonna set up and check that there's nobody mooching around. While I'm doing that you keep a look out here. If anyone looks like they're making their way over, sound the horn. We should be alright though. When I'm ready I'll wave you over. You bring the bags in and we'll start. Don't take the guns out the bag until you get in there."

"Really? I was so hoping this would be an open air event too."

She smirks and I leave her to it. I've had just about enough of her mouth today. If there's another person like her in the world we're in deep shit. I jog over to the building and look round. It's quiet. I go back to the car to get the stuff from the trunk. It's not much, a target laid flat that I got cheap from a shooting range that was going out of business, some suppressors in a bag and some ear muffs and goggles. She won't like it but tough shit. I haul the lot over to the warehouse a set up the target, just one while it's her first time. There's that many bullet holes in the target guy I'm surprised his fucking head hasn't fallen off yet. It doesn't take long, all I want today is to get her to shoot straight and I go back and signal at her to get her ass over here. She gets out the car with her bags and as she winds her way towards me I notice she even moves like a cat. There's no clumsiness to Jane, she's all agility and grace, like a dancer. I bet she can do that too. I step aside to let her in and she looks around the echoing, miserable place and smiles as she sees the target. I lead her over to the spot I've marked for her too shoot from and take the suppressors from the bag as she crouches down and carefully takes the Beretta from the box. I take the other bag from her and place it down carefully, take out a box of bullets from my blue canvas holdall and move next to her.

"Okay, first few rules. The only place you are gonna shoot at is the target and nowhere else, if you're ever in a situations were it's less cut and dry, use your common sense. There ain't nothing behind the target so if you miss you it's no big deal, again common sense tells you to look before you shoot. The only person you can trust when it comes to your gun is you, if some prick says the gun isn't loaded make sure first. Only have your finger on the trigger if you're gonna shoot. I've known a lotta assholes who ended up on the end of a bullet through their own fucking stupidity. And finally, do not point your weapon at me. Now, pass the gun here and I'll show you how to load."

I demonstrate to her how load her bullets into the magazine and how to clip that into the gun before showing her how to unload and then attach the suppressor. I then make her do the whole procedure and correct her mistakes. Her slim fingers shake slightly and I make myself resist the urge to grab her hands. Then I make her do it again and again until I'm sure she has the hang of it. Her tongue sticks out as she does it and I go over in my head the reasons why I'm a disgrace to every DeMartino that has ever come before me, even my old man. After a while the frown turns into a little smile and she silently mouths 'I'm ready.' I take the gun off her and hold out the goggles and ears muffs. She looks at me as if I'm stupid.

"Are you kidding me? Why the hell do I need those?"

"Because you need them. This ain't like the movies, sweetheart. Firearms can fuck up your hearing and your eyesight and until you're used to firing them, you wear those. If I want you to stop I'll tap my left shoulder. No protection, no shooting. You got me?"

"YES SIR, NO SIR. PRIVATE LANE WILL BE WEARING HER AURAL AND VISUAL PROECTION SIR!"

She salutes before she leans over and takes the muffs and goggles and I am in awe at the fact she always seems to have the last word. I hold her gun in my hands and aim at the nearest target.

"Don't even try to shoot with one hand. I can but I've been shooting since before you were even a thought in your Ma's head. Until you have the same skill, always use two hands. It'll steady you and make sure you aren't shooting thin air. When you aim, use your sights. On this gun you have two dots on the rear, one on the front. When all three are in a row, the middle dot will show you the end destination of your bullet. We're gonna assume today the target is Glenwood. He ain't going anywhere and it's an easy kill. So, it's a three shot rule, one shot following the other with no gaps. One shot to the chest, one to the neck, one to the head. As you get better you can aim for the forehead, the nose and the chest. Either way, nobody is coming back from three shots."

"Shouldn't I just aim for like a, you know, boom head shot?"

"Unless you have a gun powerful enough to take a guy's head off, even a single shot to the head isn't a certain kill. I could do it, and make sure the person was dead, but that suggests a lot of skill, which in this city leads to the suspicion of a hit. If you have three shots, not perfect but enough to do the job, it could be a robbery gone wrong and there's plenty enough bums and two bit hoods in this city to take the fall for it. Okay, so remember, three shots at the target when you have your sights ready. Be careful with where you put your trigger finger and keep your aim steady. You ready?"

She quickly nods and carefully takes the gun from me and slowly raises it, her arms shaking with nerves. I give her a moment to steady herself and watch her to see how much she has taken on board. Her finger moves slowly towards the trigger and her breath comes in short, rapid bursts. There's silence, I can't even hear the sound of truckers picking up girls and drunks fighting. All I'm aware of is her and the small bead of sweat that's running down her neck and I long to stroke it away. I decide to see if she's remembered my most important rule. I walk over and get her attention.

"Sweetheart."

She turns to me and as she does the gun is aimed at my upper arm. I knew she'd do it, they all do. I place my hand under the barrel and push it away gently.

"You've done what all beginners do and pointed the gun as you turn. Now, I'm gonna let that one slide 'cos you're new at this and I'm pretty fucking sure you don't wanna shoot me. Apart from everything else you wouldn't be getting paid for it and never do a job for free. There's another piece of advice."

"Oh, sorry. Didn't think."

"It's okay. If there's a next time, I may not be as _nice_. Now start again."

Her eyes narrow, as if the she's not sure if I'm kidding. I'd never hurt her but I'm not messing around here either. Jane moves back to a firing position, her back ramrod straight before she decides it's now or never and jerks her arm up before she shoots three times. Whether she was expecting the sound or recoil I don't know but she's messed up her aim. Jane lets out a small cry that echoes round the vast emptiness of the warehouse and she lowers her arms, her fingers white as she holds on to the gun. Nothing could prise it away from her fingers. I tap my arm so she knows not to try again and walk over to the target. One of her bullets has missed completely, the has hit the side and one has gone through outlined man's right shoulder. She walks over, pulling off her muffs, and I point out the two hits she has.

"I'm sorry, I fucked up."

"It's fine. You shot the shoulder, at least you hit something."

"No it's not. I messed up again. I knew I would. Stupid piece of shit."

She kicks at the dirt on the floor and aims a rough kick at a large stone, sending it soaring through the air before she kicks the toes of her boots against the floor. I walk away and I hear her follow behind me, cursing herself. She swears more than any woman I've ever know, including my own mother who has some choice words herself. When we reach the spot she slumps.

"That was your first time, you didn't line your sights up and you jerked your arm as if you were expecting to go deaf or get knocked off your feet. It's no big deal, we can do it again. Don't give up on me though, you got more in you than that. Now, stand where you did before and aim your gun. Wait for me."

Jane does as I say, which surprises me a little, and I stand behind her and lean in so I can correct her. I'm about to tell her to raise the gun a little when I see the fading light catches some of the inky darkness of her hair and that I'm so close I can smell the strawberries from the shampoo and the perfume on her skin. I've no idea what it is but it makes me forget for a second what I'm doing and all I want to do is bury my head into the crook of her neck and never move and as I close my eyes for a few seconds a thousand wonderful images run through my mind, each more hopeless and impossible than the last. We're close here, much too close. When I finally open my eyes I notice she hasn't even twitched and I pray she doesn't move back at all as I make myself speak, trying to keep my voice normal.

"Raise your arms and get those three dots in line and make sure the middle one is where you wanna go. If you don't wanna aim for the head, aim for the chest, you're more likely to hit something."

"What about my arms? I expected to go deaf before and I like the ability to listen to stuff."

"Then breathe in when you're ready to shoot and hold it as you fire. It'll help. I promise."

"It better. Otherwise going on my previous attempt you better find some cover."

"I doubt I'll need any. Just give me a moment to get out the way though. It's not the bullets I'm worried about, it's shock. One unexpected shot and I could keel. I'm getting on in years, I don't think the old ticker could take it."

"Bullshit. You're probably in better shape than most guys my age. Besides, surely the honour of finally finishing off Anthony DeMartino will go to whiskey. Or Al if you have to take one of his whores out again. I don't think you could take another evening with baby talk girl. _'Me wuvs my ickle Al, yes I do.'_ You shoulda seen the look on your face, I wish I'd took a picture."

If God has mercy on me I will never see that woman again. She spoke like a retarded four year old and didn't know who the president was so I can only assume she must have other talents, not that anything would induce me to try to find out. Jane's lined up again and I see her take a huge breath and she's still so slim I could almost see through her as she fires three times again. She exhales and lowers the gun so I wave my arm towards her as I go to the target, signalling her to come look. This time the holes have hit the middle of the chest, the left shoulder going to the throat and the side of the face. She did good and I smile as she squints at the guy.

"Is that a kill?"

"Oh that's a kill. So all those times I was bored off my ass watching you shoot zombies the arcade and took you to shooting games at the fair paid off, huh? And you kept hands steady, which is half the battle. You did good, sweetheart."

"Just call me Jane Lane, shooter extraordinaire. Have I got time for a few more rounds? Maybe try the revolver. I mean, I wanna know which one I prefer before I get into the swing of it."

"Okay, but not long. Light's gonna go soon. Make sure you unload that gun and put everything away though."

She unloads the semi automatic and I go and take the revolver from the bag. I have a hunch she won't like this as much as the semi automatic. Lotta younger ones don't. For me though, they are my past. First gun I ever fired was a revolver, my first hit was a revolver, my best hit was a revolver. She comes over, muffs round her neck with the .44 bullets and her eyes widen as she pulls them out.

"Jesus, I didn't realise how fucking huge these things are."

"Yeah, it's not the best one to use. It's not the most discreet of guns."

"Then why did you let me get one if I'm gonna have every cop in the city follow me around if I use it?"

"Because what sort of trainer would I be if I didn't let you have your Dirty Harry moment? Besides, it's on Al. You don't like it then don't use it. His money after all."

She grins and takes the revolver and points it at my head.

"Do you feel lucky? Well do ya, punk?"

"It's do I feel lucky? Don't misquote things, sweetheart."

"Well, I'm the one with the gun so bang bang, you're dead zuccherino."

What the fuck? Did she just call me _zuccherino_? Where the hell did she hear that and decide it was a good nickname. The bemusement must be written all over me because she laughs and speaks in a ludicrous Italian drawl.

" Ahhh, si si bellissimo. You are Antonio zuccherino and I am... Juana la loca."

"That's Spanish."

"Yeah, well my Italian linguistic capacity is pretty much done here. Show me how to load."

I go through loading and unloading the revolver with her, just like I did the semi automatic and then get her to do the same a few times. Her fingers slip more with this and that impatient little noise she makes when she gets pissed off is heard frequently. I see the sky fade from bright blue of the afternoon to almost grey and I know we haven't got much time left, it'll be dark soon and we may get one good shot from this. I don't have a silencer for this either, we'll be heard if anyone comes close enough. I can see some needles lying nearby some breezeblocks in the corner and for a second I'm angry at the junkie pricks who mess up my training ground. Fucking junkies, they'll be here soon too.

"We ain't got much time left. Three shots using the revolver and then we'll go. I'd say after today we earned ourselves a good dinner and I definitely earned a drink. There's a coupla beers for you if you want 'em."

"I do. And man alive this thing is big and really fucking heavy. I'll never shoot straight with this. If I suck I'm calling this a learning curve."

She takes her position and I keep one eye on the door, just in case anyone comes running at the sound of gunshots. She's much calmer this time,I guess her nerves are steadier and again three gun shots sound out and echo around the warehouse. Once I'm satisfied no asshole's coming I walk over and inspect the damage, two right shoulder shots this time, one only just hitting, and a miss. A little pout forms on her lips and pat her on the shoulder before she goes off into another self loathing rant.

"Learning curve, right? Come on let's go. I've been out the house all day and there's a brand new, pages never been turned book about the siege of Stalingrad with my name on it."

"As thrilling as that sounds, there's a double bill of 'Extreme Body Horror' premièring. Tonight's opener, body modification gone bad and why you  
should always check the person who's piercing your genitals out before you take the plunge."

She unloads the remaining bullets and carefully boxes them away before doing the same for the gun as I pick up the target and we walk out the warehouse just as the last of the light drains from the sky. As we reach the car Rosie weaves her way down to us, barely able to stand as her coats drags against the dirt. She tries to focus on me and grins.

"You looking for a good time?"

"Just had one, sorry."

Her attention shifts to Jane and it's clear from the lack of recognition she can't remember her, time and drugs have eroded the memory and she's just another girl. For her part, Jane's almost mesmerised with horror and that weary look of the streets returns so that for one brief second both of them are identical. I see her swallow as she reaches into her pockets and shoves some notes at Rosie, who looks surprised but ecstatic. She would, that'll be the easiest money she'll make all week.

"Take it, it's yours."

"Oh honey, I can't take your earnings. I know how hard it is to get by."

"So do I. I don't want it, you have it and do whatever you gotta do to feel better with it."

"Well, thanks honey. It's people like you who restore my faith in the world. You take care now, and watch out for the guy in the blue pick up truck. He beat the crap outta Chantelle the other night, she's eating through a straw now."

And with that she wanders off, going to score or hit some fleapit bars with worse clients and maybe she'll wonder if she'll wake up tomorrow and still, despite all we both know, we just watch her go, the badly mended rips in her dress and the bruises on her legs even more noticeable as dusk turns to night. Around us we hear nothing but the slight breeze that goes through our hair and the hum of a distant world.


	10. Chapter 10

I watch Jane as she fires rounds into the cardboard guy, each shot closer than the last one. We've been coming here every few nights for practice and to get her comfortable with the handguns. Well, the Beretta really. The .44 Magnum has long since been abandoned, apparently for being 'a big, heavy old guy's gun' and she now almost effortlessly fires into the target's head and chest. We can't come here too often, the same two people coming to the same place every night is bound to attract attention, even in a city like this. Especially police attention. Once upon a time you could practically carry a dead body out in front of the cops and they wouldn't give a shit. Since the big clean up though, all this zero tolerance crap, most of them are alert to any potential illegal activity and I don't have the money to bribe them all, and even then it ain't a certain thing they'll take it. Things used to be so much fucking simpler back in the day. Plus, I wanna get her used to the basics before we even move onto moving targets and rifles. And then we gotta move onto actual knives as opposed to the kiddy toy ones. I look across her stance, from that determined face to those taut, slim arms and her flat stomach. Now she's put some weight on and lost that gauntness she has a body that most girls would kill for and almost immediately that familiar prickle of shame runs through my stomach for looking at her like that. I hope to God she never finds out what a low life scumbag I am.

"How am I doing, zuccherino? I think I'm getting better; this cardboard asshole has no chance against me. I like to think that he's one of my johns. Asshole has it coming."

A john. That's what they all are, that's what I am. I wander over to the target and look at the shots. Apart from a couple, they've all hit the head or chest. A couple have hit the guy's left arm, which still sends him to meet his maker. She's good. I look across and wink at her. She grins and lowers her ear muffs.

"Doing good sweetheart. I think we might move onto rifles and moving targets soon. I need to make a few calls about that so for the next few days we'll be back on knives training. Real ones this time, not toys so you can quit whining at me now."

"Cool…. Is it different? A hit with a knife? I mean, is it harder to do it with a knife rather than a gun?"

"Physically I'd say easier in a sense because you got a bigger area to aim for. Once it goes in once the mark will be so focused on the first wound that the next is quicker and easier to get in. Mentally though, I'd say harder. With a gun there's a distance between you and the guy and you can sorta disconnect a little, even when you see the bastard go down. With a knife it's closer, you feel it almost as much as they do. You can see their eyes and their blood gets all over you. That's another reason I don't like it, fucking messy and easier to trace. You stab someone, you get rid of everything. Weapon, clothes, shoes, body, anything that could be traced back to you. It's a very personal method. I prefer to keep my distance but sometimes you ain't gotta choice."

"I guess. I need to know this stuff though."

"Don't get any ideas though about this shit being easy? It's not. It's hard and it's dangerous and I wish to God you weren't involved in it…."

"I know, I know. Yeesh Anthony, give it a rest for once. I already know all this."

"Well, _don't_ fucking listen _then_. And if you end up _dead_ don't blame me."

"Firstly, I'm not planning on ending up dead and I won't because I'm being trained by you. I know you're freaked out about what happened to Lewis, but from what you've told me he was some coked up asshat who didn't listen to you. Secondly, despite what you may think, I actually do listen to you and take on board what you're saying, I just don't need it repeating back to me like I'm a six year old learning to read. And thirdly, don't you bulge your crazy eye out at me, mister. One day it will fall out and don't come crying to me to help put it back in."

Ever since getting to know Jane I've been getting used to being speechless. I thought I was sarcastic but I don't hold a candle to her. That and I can't stay mad at her for long, and she knows it. She grows more confident every day and I can't stop myself thinking of where that eventually will end up. Sooner or later sitting at home in the evening with me won't be enough anymore and though I know she needs friends her own age and to go out and do the sort of stupid crap I did when I was her age the thought of her doing it kills me. Especially the thought of cocky young bastards sniffing around her like dogs on heat. Jane starts to wave her arms in front of me and blows her hair from her face, like she always does. My suggestion of a hair band didn't go down too well last time I mentioned it. I believe the words 'I am not Alice in fucking Wonderland' were used.

"Yo, earth calling Anthony. Do you receive us? Shall we beam you up, Scotty?"

"Kirk never said that you know. One of the many misconceptions people have about Star Trek."

"Well, I never had you down for a Trekkie. Do you dress up as Spock for Halloween?"

"I'll let you be the judge of that one."

"Hello, Bogdan Golovin speaking."

"Hello, this is Anthony DeMartino. I don't know if you remember me, I'm a friend of Al Caruso's."  
"I remember you. You came in with the young lady, Miss Lane if I recall correctly."

"Yeah, that's her. That's partly what I'm calling about. She, uh, has been wanting to expand her skills on a moving target and I don't really have any stuff for that. I was wondering if you did, or at least knew somewhere I can get that kinda gear?"

I hear him exhale and I know he's taking a drag from a cigarette so I instinctively reach down into my pocket and pull my own packet out. I pull one out and push it in between my lips before I fumble for my lighter. The phone has a strange effect on me; I always feel the need to smoke if I'm on it. Maybe it's the years of dealing with terrible phone calls that's done it. When I got the call about Lewis I sat and smoked the rest of my packet one after the other. I really should give up, but then how would I deal with the calls then? I light my cigarette and feel the heat rush down my throat and through my chest when Golovin decides to speak.

"You know, you can buy portable lateral targets online these days."

"With my record and this city? I wouldn't risk it."

"I understand. I know a supplier who can bring them in, ones that can be powered by a car battery. Apparently they are very popular for novice shooters. They normally cost around twelve hundred but the man owes me a favour so I could get them for about eight."

When I started my training shooting a moving target was going on a hit and hoping for the best. Eight hundred bucks for some little moving targets? Jesus. Still, if it helps Jane it's worth it.

"Okay, if you can get me one in and let me know when I can pick it up I'd appreciate it. Do you need my number?"

"No, Mr Caruso already passed it on. He said you would probably need more things. I hope you are not offended."

"Oh no, I woulda been surprised if he hadn't. Thanks, and I'll see you soon."

"Goodbye. I will call when I have received your order."

The call disconnects and I look round to see Jane peek at me from around the door, a small grin on her lips. She gives me the thumbs up and saunters in with a kitchen knife in her hand.

"Okay, so I know you've ordered something else for shooting practice that means that's out the question and you want a day with good light for rifle practice so I guessed that we might as well carry on with this. So, where do I start?"

I've already anticipated this for a while and I've set something up for her. I walk to the back of the kitchen and open the door that leads down to the basement and I'm aware of her closeness as she follows me down. The set up is simple, a couple of my old punch bags that I've drawn a few circles on indicating key parts of the body and a couple of mats so that it's more comfortable for her when she falls. We walk over to the bags and she gives one a light push and then a little punch. I grin as she starts to move around the bag like a boxer, punching it every so often. She's so light on her feet she barely makes a sound and I watch her dance around it with pushes and little punches, she's so quick that I only just catch the movement of her arm as she plunges the knife she's withdrawn from her pocket into the bag, round about the area I've marked for the stomach. She could do that anywhere. She could play up being the damsel in distress, fake an injury and lure her mark into helping her up from the ground before she strikes. She could seduce the guy in a bar and make him think he's got lucky with this beautiful young woman and that his luck is in that night, suspecting nothing as he leans in for kiss. Nobody would suspect she could do anything bad. The look she gives me now, all big eyes like a cat that's just swiped someone, I wouldn't. She seems to read my mind as my grin widens.

"Bet you weren't expecting that."

"No, I wasn't. More importantly, neither will your mark if you make like nothing is gonna happen. You went for the stomach, generally the easiest and weakest part of the body so that and the chest is always a good place to go for. The main thing you gotta do is make sure that once they go down they don't get back up. Never assume one strike is enough and use some force, remember if they live you're a target so hard and often is the best way to go about it. So, go ahead. Finish him off."  
She quickly turns and pulls the knife from the punch bag before repeatedly plunging it into other areas round about what I've marked as the chest, arms and neck. Jane appears to have taken the advice to heart as she roughly stabs at the bag, lost in her task and unaware that I've moved behind her. I wait for her arm to come back again before I grab her wrist with one hand and slide my arm tightly across her other arm and chest to restrain her. Jane stiffens for a second and I can feel panic set in before she roughly starts to struggle and tries to twist the knife in her hand backwards in an attempt to get at me. I tighten the grip on her wrist and she inhales before she drops slightly and forces her right arm upwards. I feel the edge of the blade nip against my shirt and twist her hand slightly.

"Have your legs stopped working? You can kick me Jane; it's not against the rules."

I hear a muffled 'fuck you' before she brings her right leg back and kicks me hard in the calf. Pain rips through me and I feel my  
breath hitch as she kicks me again, this time in the knee. I feel my leg give way and she takes the opportunity of my loosened grip to kick me again and wiggle free from hold and twists to push against the elbow of the arm that's holding her knife hand. We've done block and disarms before with the little plastic knife and this is one she particularly likes. That was the plastic knife though, this is the real deal and one slip from either of us could end badly for the other one. The tip of the blade teeters between us and she increases the pressure on my arm and another stab of pain goes up my arm and I loosen my grip allowing her to get free. She pulls away and tries to catch her breath. I stand myself upright and she massages her wrist slowly.

"Damn, you have some grip on you. I thought you were gonna break my wrist."

"Well, if I was some prick on the move I would have done. If someone grabs you then don't think you gotta be kind to them, they won't be kind to you. Kick, punch, scratch, bend their fingers back, break bones, do what you gotta do to get outta there."

She nods briskly and gives her body a little shake.

"Okay. Let's go again."

So we do. We go at it over and over again. Sometimes I have hold of the knife and lunge at her, trying to get the blade as close as I can without actually hurting her. Jane's eyes never leave my face as I have hold of the blade and I feel a rush of pride at how far she's come from the first training session where I knocked her to the floor and she nearly scratched all the skin from the back of my hand. I still have a pale red scar running along my hand from where she drew blood, not that I told her. I've had worse than a scratch. Other times she comes at me with the knife and I show her some simple blocks and ways to try and disarm an attacker, though I'm not some martial arts master. Everything I know has been taught from sheer dumb luck. Sweat starts to run down my face as I feel myself begin to tire; I'm not a young man anymore. For her part Jane looks like she could carry on all night but she seems to recognise that I'm starting to sweat like a priest in a brothel.

"You know what, I think I'm done for today. I'm getting kinda hungry and I think only my favourite DeMartino tagliatelle can make me feel better. "

"I have no idea where you put all that food. If I ate the amount of crap you do I'd be one of those fat guys who get lifted out their house by a crane."

"Well, if you didn't make so much nice food I wouldn't stuff my face like some sort of starving dog. Come on, let's go. My body demands sustenance."

Underneath that tough exterior she's a sweet girl. She'd deny it outright if you asked her but there's a kind nature under there. I just hope she keeps it. She can twist me round her little finger too. That will come in useful for her too.

Thursday morning breaks with some good clear weather, good visibility but not so bright that you can't see a thing. I lean against the kitchen counter sipping at a strong black coffee that Jane made before I came downstairs. Since Lewis I haven't slept well and it's starting to show. There are big black circles under my eyes and by lunchtime most days I can barely stay awake and end up having a nap, which means when I go to bed I can't sleep. Jane on the other hand looks fucking radiant. The advantages of youth and encouragement have done wonders for her. Not to mention the steady supply of good food too. She offers to make me some toast and I shake my head since I ate at three thirty this morning. Jane walks over to me and squeezes my arm gently, a look of concern flits across her face.

"Are you sure? No offence but you look like shit. I heard you moving around again late last night. When was the last time you slept properly?"

"I'm fine. I go through periods when I can't sleep. I know this may be hard for those among us who could sleep through tornados but I'll get through it. Besides, if I go back to bed we can't go and test your rifle out either. Hurry, go and get your stuff while we have good light."

She looks at me, her eyes wide with uncertainty, and I mouth 'go' at her so that she finally shifts her ass upstairs. I take a deep gulp of the coffee and it burns as I swallow. I don't care, if it hurts it's good. I lose myself in some blankness and stare at the remnants of Jane's breakfast, oblivious to everything and I feel myself start to drift towards sleep. My eyes close and I toy with the idea of just snatching a few minutes sleep when I hear Jane's voice. She sounds as if she's miles away.

"Seriously, just go to bed. This can wait."

I force my eyes open and straighten my back. Get your lazy ass on the move, DeMartino.

"No it can't."

Against my better her judgement I let her drive, insurance be damned, and direct her towards some old buildings which once upon a time must have been full of businesses and people but now stand half deserted. In an effort to keep me awake she puts some ear splitting noise on and occasionally sings along. Jane has many talents but singing is not one of them. I can only hope for the sake of music lovers everywhere that her deadbeat brother can hold a tune better than she can. She pulls over across the road from the back entrance to the building and as we both exit the car I see her scope the street for anything suspicious as I get the rifle hidden in its box from the trunk. We cross the road and both of us give a last furtive look around before we push the rusty side door open. From somewhere in one of the lower floors I can hear the faint hum of music, probably some failing business or a bunch of illegals making knock off handbags to hawk on street corners, and we walk in silence up endless flights of stairs until we finally reach the highest storey. There's no music here, just the sound of the wind and the cooing of pigeons. The windows have long since gone and a blast of icy cold wind hits my face. She takes the rifle from the box and I show her how to load and unload and then pass it to her to copy. After a few goes she gets it and I pass her the goggles and the ear muff as she stands as close to the edge of the window without falling off, one foot up on the low ledge. Jane holds the barrel with her left hand, her right behind the rigger and lowers her eye to the sight.

"The sight here is telescopic, the centre of the crosshairs is where your bullet will go. The same principle as before, deep breath to steady you, hold it and then fire. Take your time, we've got a while yet. Okay, if you look across at the building opposite there's a pigeon in the middle of the ledge. Line your sights up. That's your target."

She splutters and lowers her gun, a look of outraged shock on her face.

"_What?_ Oh my God, no."

"Why?"

"Whaddya mean why? I am not killing a bird."

"Jane, I ain't asking you to shoot Donald Duck. It's a flying rat, one less in the world is a good thing. And if you can't shoot vermin how the hell are you gonna shoot people?"

She gives me a look that could kill and I hear her muttering mutinous curses at me under her breath for a minute or so before she falls silent. I watch her as she stares at the bird, as every conflicting emotion flashes across her face from disgust, to a sort of melancholy to finally a sort of defiant resignation and puts the muffs over her ears. She turns and looks at me again and I my stomach knots with self-loathing again at asking her to do this but this is the only other way I can offer her. She slowly raises the gun and puts her right eye to scope. For what seems like eternal seconds she slowly breathes in and out, her chest rises and falls underneath her jacket and I start to think she won't do it until she takes one deep breath and fire. By the time I've turned my head to look the shots well gone and a few grey feathers flutter softly to the ledge. The colour drains from her face and she swallows roughly, whether it's tears or vomit I can't tell and her breath comes in ragged, rough bursts. From her pulling the trigger to now has been mere seconds but it feels like we've been here for years. Jane lowers her gun and removes her finger from behind the trigger. I stroke her hair gently and she looks at me with a sad smile before she puts her hand over mine.

"Don't worry about me. I've been through worse."

She moves away from me and my hand falls to my side as she stares at the dirty, shit covered ground before she lets out a deep resigned sigh and raises her rifle again, looking for her next target.


End file.
